


Do You Want A Christmas Drink?

by MaccasWeirdFriend



Series: Just A Touch Of Holiday Luck [1]
Category: The Beatles
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:44:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 41,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3631953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaccasWeirdFriend/pseuds/MaccasWeirdFriend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, I was just sitting in a Starbucks to do some homework and drinking my liquid gold (sorry, hot chocolate). Then all of a sudden I have someone literally breathing down my neck. Seriously weird don't you think? I can't blame him though because who can resist Paul McCartney? Okay, just kidding. But. . . why is he breathing down my neck?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Buying Liquid Gold

I sat at a corner table in Starbucks, enjoying my hot chocolate in peace and relaxation. Well, it was actually very loud in here because like every holiday, Starbucks has a long list of deals, so of course people would come in. But this place has great Wi-Fi and the atmosphere is...great so I continued to type away at my laptop while occasionally sipping at the liquid gold with a lot of extra whip I had.

In all reality I could have done this finals project at home but a certain someone with a jelly babies addition wouldn't leave me alone until I got him a new box of them—which is basically once every few hours—or "do something fun other than typing up college stuff"—which is again every few hours.

I continued to type and type while occasionally changing the position of my Prezi to bring it into a better style than it was before. It wasn't until someone was literally breathing down my neck did I realize another soul actually was near me. Sadly, that took a little while longer than I would like to admit and when I turned to see what was making the new draft on my neck, I shouted like a little girl when I saw wide brown eyes looking straight at me.

"What the hell was that for?" I yelled at the strange person who still had their eyes still very close to mine. The person—a guy who looked close to my age—moved back and sat in the chair right across from me.

And with the most serious face I have seen in a long time he said, "I was doing a short study on your reaction time. Judging by how long it took you..." He took a quick pause to look at the watch he did not have. "Your reaction is late and I have to conclude that you have Lennon-itis. It's not fatal but may cause good or bad things if not treated properly."

I blinked at him a few good times and stared at the very serious person who was staring right back at me.

"What's Lennon-itis?" I asked, kind of scared of the random disease someone said I had, even though I didn't know the person. It sounded serious in all reality.

"Nothing," the guy across from me said bluntly, his seriousness still on his face. "I just made it up as an ice breaker."

"You made me think I had a disease as a way to talk to me?"

"Well at least I didn't say it was fatal. You probably would have freaked out like this."

And then he promptly flailed around, falling out of his chair. I laughed but I knew I wouldn't react like that. I'd probably scream like I did before, that's it. Maybe.

"John Lennon, by the way," the guy greeted and held out his hand. I took it and thought of what I should say. I'm called James by all my teachers and classmates but I don't really like the name. I usually like Paul but there's always the one time I slip up and tell someone James. Guess I'll just have to go with it.

"I'm Paul McCartney, thanks for scaring me with your last name," I said, shaking his hand and giving him a faint smirk. He returned it with an even bigger one and looked around at the coffee shop.

"You know, I need to try out a new holiday drink. What do you suggest, Macca?"

"Macca? Why Macca?" I muttered as I started to type again, occasionally looking back up at the person who had a very wistful look on his face for coffee. If he were to start thinking about something much more important, I wouldn't be surprised if he took out a chalkboard to put down all his thoughts.

"Because you just look like one. Plus, you have that sort of famous person kind of name and some famous people are called Macca, so why not. Still what type of drink?"

I looked up from my laptop and to the menu, then down to my drink. Well, this is going to be fun.

"How about that new peppermint drink?"

"I don't like peppermint," John said with a groan and started to eye the scones down like they were an arch nemesis.

"How do you not like peppermint and you want a holiday drink?"

He rolled his eyes and shrugged a little.

"Don't worry about it, what else?"

"Caramel Brulee? That's okay, yeah?"

John stuck his tongue out and shook his head.

"How is that even closely related to Christmas? Hmm anything else?"

"Okay, okay, gingerbread. I was thinking of getting it but I got hot chocolate instead."

His face instantly brightened and he jumped from his chair in an excited frenzy.

"That's it!" he shouted with pure glee and started to dig in his pocket for his wallet. "I'll get hot chocolate! Thanks Macca!" John then grabbed my hand and steered me straight toward the register.

"And then I can also get those awesome blueberry scones they have," John added with a slight cackle and started to eye the scones again.

"Is that why you were staring them down like the enemy before?"

"No...well, actually yes and no. I was staring at them that way because I'm so mad that they're so good. And I found that eating them was the best torture. For the scones of course. So with every coffee I ever get, I'll get a blueberry scone as revenge for their goodness," He finished with mock anger as he shook his fist to the sky in slow motion.

"Hey, we're at the start of the line now," John noticed brightly and pulled me along with him to get to the front of the line, positively bouncing with joy for hot chocolate.

"Hello! Welcome to Starbucks," the cashier said with a smile and looked in my direction and his smile got wider. "Hey, I know you like the hot chocolate but that doesn't mean you need to get two in one day."

I laughed and shook my head quickly. "No it's not that, Tadashi, John here just wanted to drag me along to watch him get a cup of hot chocolate."

"So he got you hooked on it too?" Tadashi asked as he started typing some buttons on the cash register.

"No, I just wanted something that taste like Christmas, Grande size with a blueberry scones," John answered squinted at the scones with a very funny face that kind of looked like an old man frowning at a bad child.

"Okay, that'll be $7 even." Tadashi looked up from the cash register and nearly burst out with laughter as John was slowly counting out all the quarters he had like an old lady, even taking it so far as counting them out loud in a shaky voice.

"Gets them every time," he murmured and stuffed the coins into his pocket to bring out the dollar bills, giving them to Tadashi.

"Okay," Tadashi snickered and started walking over to all the blenders and the people around them. "It'll only take a little while to get those both ready so you guys can just sit down and we'll call you over when we're done. That's fine, right?"

Me and John nodded and went back over to the table we were both at before.

I shut my laptop—but saving everything first—and put it into my school bag, getting ready for Lennon to talk or if he would give me the opportunity to talk.

Luckily, he was a bit thrown off by the fact that I put my laptop away so I jumped right into my questions.

"You really hate those pastries up there if you keep squinting at them so much. Any answers for that?"

He gave a light laugh and dug into his pocket again to get something out.

"Wow, you'd be a good teacher…or principal. I can't decide which."

"Well, I'm actually studying to be a teacher so thanks for that; but you didn't answer my question."

"See, you would be a good teacher. Anyways, I need glasses because my eyesight's awful. Bat-like even! Like, right now your face is nothing but a round thing with hair growing out of it."

"I hope I look like a handsome round thing then with luscious hair growing out of the top."

He laughed and shook his head, setting the glasses on the table.

"Nope…I nearly thought you were a girl till I got to the table. So I guess pretty would fit it."

"Just put on the glasses before I feel like hitting you with them," I chided lightly and looked at them a bit more. They were really thick! He wasn't lying when he said he had the eyesight of a bat.

"Oh…so you aren't a girl. And here I was holding onto that hope."

"Hey, I do not look like a girl!"

"But you kind of do at the eyes. I mean seriously, do you curl your eyelashes or something?"

"Who are you to say? Your glasses magnify your eyes by a hundred and it looks like you've done your fair share of curling."

"Ha! So you do admit to curling your eyes!"

"Ha!" I retorted with a wild grin. "You did not deny the accusation!"

"But sir, I don't curl my eyelashes! Just look, I'm not a girl!"

"I do not look like a girl!"

"So you're saying you're not a girl who does actually look like one? How mysterious…"

"No! I am a girl but I don't look like one! Wait, I mean—"

"No! You've already said it! So now I get to call you Paula and bribe you with lip gloss or something…"

"You really don't know anything about girls, do you?" I laughed and looked warily as I saw a very mischievous look grace his face.

"Not really…but you do!" And he cackled wildly, nearly falling out of his seat with the fit of laughter he was having.

"Hey, guys! That hot chocolate of yours is awaiting you," Tadashi called from where he was, John basically running up to get the liquid gold he ordered.

"Did you put extra whipped cream in here?" he asked, opening the lid up and peering inside.

"Yeah, Paul loves it with extra whip and I guess I accidentally made your orders identical to each other, sorry. Do you want it without the extra whip?"

And there was Tadashi being all nice and apologetic as usual. I was just about ready to calm him down and tell him to quit being this nice, it was making me disappointed in myself.

"Who would want it without the extra whipped cream?" John asked with wide eyes. "Keep the whipped cream and you can even add extra if you want!"

Tadashi noticeable calmed down and brought out the scones too, which John finally did not squint or glare at, only smiling very happily.

"What time is it?" John asked absently. Tadashi looked over at a clock and then at John.

"5:30, why do you ask?"

5:30….George, oh great! I rushed back to my chair, grabbed my jacket and school bag and turned back to face a very confused John.

"I'm sorry but I need to go. I have this—"

"Hey, don't worry about it, Paul. Meet you here tomorrow, say…2pm, okay?"

I thought about it for a moment and nodded. That was alright time for me. It was a Saturday so I wouldn't have any classes to bother me about anything. Why not?

"Alright, see you then," I called, waving to both John and Tadashi then going outside and running to my car. I started it up and quite possibly went over the speed limit a couple of times…but let's keep that to ourselves. It's the holidays after all.

I stopped by the store to get some jelly babies and a new book of great songs with sheet music. At the same store of course. Really, what a lifesaver. I got to the apartment building and got my bags, rushing up the steps like a possible mad man. Oh well!

Getting to my door, I pulled out my keys to the apartment and opened the door. Home sweet home.

"Paulie! Did you get my jelly—"

"Yes, I got your jelly bellies and something else too."

I didn't even have time to get a few feet into the apartment before a quick ball of boy came straight at me.

"You got me new music sheets! Thank you so much for this!" George then gave me a quick hug and let go just as quickly and gave me a glare. "But you came home late. And you're going to need to give me a very good explanation why."

Yup…home sweet home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Did you like it? Do you want a blueberry scone? Did you not like it and want a peppermint mocha (or whatever...I forgot. XD) just to spite John? Either way review this very sugar induced chapter! If you noticed...I put in Tadashi from Big Hero 6! Why not? He was loveable enough to put in. Anyways, George will be a year and a few months younger than Paul so he will be a junoir instead of a senior...or something and so this story will make some sense. See ya later guys!


	2. The Walrus Was Paul

"So you're late why exactly?" George pushed again for what felt like the one millionth time in a very lawyer like manner. Which, obviously, was kind of scary.

"Because I was getting your candy, George," I explained as easily as possible because I don't think telling the poor kid I was diagnosed with a fake disease would be a good way of explaining it. Though it would be very truthful...it would not good.

"I don't believe it," he muttered absently and I counted down the minutes it would take for him to tell me he'd need a new bag of that stuff. It was like he was addicted to it, on some level!

But in all reality I was thankful he wasn't addicted to something else. His mom was actually a really nice person, so nice she was okay with George wanting to come over and live in my apartment. But I'm sure she wouldn't be the happiest if something happened to the little guy. And I wouldn't forgive myself either, so it'd be double the worrying and headache.

Anyway, I continued to type and change stuff with George constantly pestering me about other stuff, like if his guitar was tuned properly, or if he was playing certain chords right.

At one point he set the guitar down and went off to the kitchen to eat all the food in sight—sorry having a late dinner. Did I mention he was also terribly addicted to food?

The next day I woke up horribly late, about 11am late. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes but Tadashi must have put something in my drink because I felt like I was on some sort of sugar crash or other stuff that could define my sluggish mind and body. So there was nothing better to do than sleep. It would easily help with everything.

I woke up in what felt like only minutes, feeling much better than the first time I woke up. Maybe staying up till 4am wasn't the best decision.

I looked in the direction of my clock and jumped out of bed in a frantic hurry. Great, its 1:30pm and I still haven't even gotten a shower. Good thinking on going back to sleep, Paul.

I ran into the bathroom, brushed my teeth so quickly I probably got rid of most of my enamel and took what could be the world's quickest shower. As I was stepping out the door—with my clothes on, of course—and grabbing my school bag, George somehow appeared right in front of me. I looked around to see if there were any other ninjas in the apartment but luckily it was just the one.

"What do you need, George?" I asked him quickly, looking over his shoulder like John would somehow appear where I was starting holes into.

"I want to go where you're going!" he said with tons of excitement that I wouldn't expect on a morning and started to walk down the hall.

"But you can't, you might get bored and end up getting angry or something."

"You said might, so I can come anyways. No problem."

"But it would be awkward if you start to glare at him like he ate your sandwich."

"I'm already in the car, there's nothing you can do about it now," George laughed and jumped around in his seat like someone on a sugar rush...which would explain the nearly empty bag of jelly babies he had in his hand. I couldn't do anything about it but drive as quick as I could with Georgie in the car and him moving possibly faster than the car.

When I stopped the car in front of the Starbucks, George zoomed out of the car with a giddy sort of spring in his step and me two steps right behind him.

"And it's Macca! He may have been," John looked down at the watch he now finally had. "Fourteen minutes late but he's here!"

"It's not my fault though, George was—where's George?"

"Are you making up imaginary friends now? I thought you were older than that," John chided and I scowled in irritation along with confusion as he wagged his pointer finger in my face. I swatted it away, trying to push the question of where George was.

"Ooh! I have someone I want you to meet! His name's Richard but he likes to be called Ringo. Don't ask. And...um...there's a random kid sitting with him. I don't know any random kids."

I instantly turned around to where Ringo was and saw George bobbing his head adamantly to whatever the person across from him was saying. John lightly pushed me to the two and that was all I need to rush over.

"I told you there was nothing to worry about, Paulie! Ringo's here to keep me company!" George sang with glee and I could see Ringo with a smile on his face from possibly watching George run through all the sugar in his body and still have something left over.

"Paul! We're going to need more jelly babies...they're kind of gone now."

And he shook the empty box with a large amount of vigor. Ringo burst out laughing and it somehow made George start to laugh uncontrollably.

"Well, since these two are going to behave immaturely, I think we better go off and have more civilized and adult like conversations without them," John said in a very good British accent and stuck his nose into the air in a haughty matter. I sniffed in mock disgust and stood next to John, nose very high up.

"Let's. These two would merely drag us down in our very intellectual conversations. We will have to leave," I told John in a British accent similar to John's and the two 'children' instantly went into another round of crazy fits of laughter.

We walked away from the other two and waited for someone to come up to the cash register. Finally, someone arrived. And it was Tadashi too!

"You never take a break, do you?" I joked as Tadashi moved around like lightning behind the counter.

"No, half the people took a break today because they either needed to go somewhere or they were just sick so we're a bit understaffed." He went over to one of the blenders and started to pour whatever was in it into a giant cup. "And now the rest of us are working just a bit harder than usual. No worries guys."

John looked at the cup and took it from Tadashi's hand to get a better look at it, because once again he didn't have his glasses on.

"Why don't you just wear your glasses instead of taking them out at random times?" I asked John as he put the cup so close to his eyes they got cross eyed.

"They bother my nose. And they say the nose is always right."

"Who says that? I've never heard of something like that."

"Ha! I know something Macca doesn't! Anyways…me and my mom say that stuff. Like if your food smells awful, it's possible your food taste awful."

"And that usually works?"

"Yeah! Why wouldn't it? The nose is always right!"

Tadashi came back to take the cup and gave it to someone who looked like a business man, who gave John a dirty look. John returned it with blowing a raspberry in his direction until his face grew red and he got cross eyed again. The man gave John a funny look and I couldn't help but join John in the fun. He then gave up in a grumbling defeat and walked out of the Starbucks gripping his drink so tightly it might burst the second he gets to his car.

The second he got out of his door we both burst into laughter and Tadashi even had to join in.

"So what are you guys going to have?" he asked with a wide smile.

"I want the gingerbread latte," John said while bouncing on the balls of his feet with a hyper attitude I remember well. "And with a blueberry scone!"

"You're acting like you've already had a few of those with extra espresso."

"Well...I didn't...at least I think I didn't."

And that easily let me believe he had a few. I walked over to George, who was still adamantly talking to Ringo.

"Do you want to have the hot chocolate or—" I asked quickly but George was far faster.

"Nope! Eggnog, because it's almost Christmas, a few days away even, and I always have eggnog before Christmas!"

"How many of those jelly bellies did you have?"

He sat there for a moment, totally stumped, and look up at me with a slightly confused face.

"I have no idea. A lot. Yeah, that sounds right."

I shook my head and walked back to John who was just getting his gingerbread latte.

"I'll have a hot chocolate and an eggnog latte. Both Grande size," I told Tadashi but in the back of my head I was listing all the bad things that would happen with a hyper George Harrison. Sadly, the list was getting pretty long and scary.

John all the while grew more excitable and antsy as he continued to sip his latte. I think at some point he was muttering something about a walruses.

He walked back over to me after telling everyone: "I am here, as you are here, as you are me!" He then went into a fit of laughter. "And we are all together!"

John then looked in my direction and gasped as if he'd seen a ghost.

"You're the walrus," he gasped, with his eyes as wide as humanly possible.

"John, what are you talking about?"

I looked behind me and saw a painting of some really random colors. But they didn't look anything like a walrus.

"You," he emphasized greatly. "Are the walrus."

Tadashi came over and gave me a pointed look to John, who had the same look when he said I was the walrus. He pointed to Tadashi and gave him a pretty scary grin.

"And you're the eggman," John said simply and went over to talk about that weird stuff with Ringo and George.

"What was that?" Tadashi asked with a slight frown.

"I don't know...but you caused it."

"What?"

I picked up the two drinks and looked over at John who was bouncing around a noticeably sluggish George.

"You gave him the drink that made him go on the random walrus talk."

"Walrus talk? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I think I'd remember someone calling me a walrus."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I can not explain why I brought up "I Am The Walrus" (which I do not own). It's just one of those things I can't explain. By the way . . . Ringo's here! Are you happy? Yeah, he'll actually talk in the next chapter so don't worry Ringo fans! *hides behind a rock* Thanks to all those that comment before and are going to! You deserve a virtual cookie! So . . . chocolate chip or sugar cookie?


	3. Can We Come Over?

"So you're Paul, right?" Ringo asked as he shook my hand after I gave George the drink he ordered and stopped John from chewing on his fingers as a study. Do not ask.

"Yeah. And you're Ringo right?" he nodded and poked George who flicked Ringo's hand away like it was a fly. All Ringo needed to do was eat George's sandwich and he would instantly be on George's list.

"Don't poke me," George muttered and took a sip of his eggnog, giving him a little bit of a milky mustache. "I need my eggnog before I can talk to you again."

I was about to ask what George meant but John snapped his fingers and bobbed his head happily.

"Sitting on a cornflake…waiting for the van to come," John giggled and went off to sip his latte, which I took from him the second he got it away from his lips.

"But it's mine," he whined like a child and frowned when I wouldn't give it to him, putting his head on the table and fake crying as soon as his forehead touched the table.

"Does he always act like this?" I asked Ringo who gives John another glance and nods his head vigorously.

"Yeah, well, when he's hyper and all. But John whispering about walruses is new. It's usually just stuff that's hard to wrap your head around and get to understand, not stuff that makes you think he's insane."

"I'm not insane," John groaned, rubbing his eyes. "I'm merely so wonderful and talented no one can understand it or chart it on a scale. I've told you about a million times, Ringo." He then turned in my direction and gave me a bit of an upset look and the wobbly lip. Sadly, I have no defense against that for of guilt. "And thanks for caring about me, Macca. I was here crying my eyes out and you did nothing. I'm hurt!" He then clutched his heart dramatically, gasping for air.

"So you've sobered up from all that candy now, have you?" Ringo asked as he ate one of the surprisingly many sandwiches Starbucks has. John snickered and took out a little notebook and a little pen.

"Never! I just don't have as many ideas right now. I need to get those more—"

"No!" Ringo andI shouted. I was starting feeling more and more happy I took it away.

"Just jot down whatever ideas you got from your crazy sugar ideas," Ringo joked lightly. John snorted and quickly started to write down just about everything he said, scratching out randomly sometimes.

"But my teacher hates me, even that really good one _Please Please Me!_ It was a classic in the making and he gave it a C because it apparently had vulgar messages throughout the poem. What a liar! _"_

"It does sound like it would have something dirty in it," George said as he continued to sip at the eggnog, his mustache milky getting thicker each time.

"This is exactly what I'm mad at. Why do people go off and start thinking for themselves and bring other stuff into it! Ugh, I hate it when people think for themselves," John vented and took his latte back, sticking out his tongue out at me too.

"So what is it about?" George asked as he tried to take John's scone but John took his scone out of George's and shoved it in his mouth quickly. After swallowing it, he simply patted George's head until George stopped whimpering like a dog.

"It's about something dirty. Simple as that. But I hate that people over think it. That's why I'm happy about this new one. If you over think it, you'll go half crazy. So that'll teach my teacher something," John said proudly.

"Or you'll get an F this time," Ringo simply said as he polished off his sandwich. I snickered a little, with John simply grinning and laughed wildly when he looked at George.

"What? Is there something on my face?" George asked innocently. John nearly fell out of his chair and pointed at his face.

"You've got a mustache now," he said through gasps of air and then pointed at me."You've got one too Paul! But yours is kind of weak…"

Ringo snagged John's latte and took a quick sip of it. "Ha! Now we've all got mustaches," Ringo said proudly and took out his phone. "Now gather all around so we can get pictures."

"Wait, I have a mustache too? Is it a manly mustache?"

Ringo laughed at John's question and nodded.

"Yeah, it's all around your mouth and looks like a beard. You could be some sort of hippie even."

"I'd be the manliest hippy though," John said with utter proudness and got a very stoic look on his face, puffing out his chest in pride.

"Alright, you've got a very manly beard. Can we just take the picture now? My lips are starting to get all tingly," George whispered and nearly wiped it all away before Ringo had the smarts to pull us all close enough to get a good picture.

"So what should we call it?" John asked as he looked at the picture, moving away from Ringo as the latter continued to try to get rid of the drying drink mustache on his face. I looked around the room and my eyes settles on the outside. There was nothing good there to base it off of…but maybe...

"Sergeant Pepper," I said simply and everyone looked over at me.

"What? I think it'd be alright," I added as I continued to feel the stares. John looked at the picture one last time and handed the phone over to Ringo.

"Yeah, let's go with Sergeant Pepper….but it could be longer," John agreed and picked up the pepper shaker that was sitting at our table.

"What do you mean longer?"

"It just feels like Sergeant Pepper needs something—Lucy in the Sky! That's it!" And John went back to writing in his little notebook. George laughed into his cup of eggnog and nearly got back the mustache he just got rid of.

"So what are you and George doing for Christmas, Paul?" Ringo asked me and it kind of caught me by surprise.

There wasn't much to do, just open presents and ask Dot if she could make something great like she usually does so the whole building wouldn't burn down and Brian, our landlord, won't kill us.

"Not much really. We're just trying not to burn the house down and get some presents under the tree."

"Santa will do that last part though, because he's _real!_ " George yelled and walked away to throw away the empty cup. And possibly sulk, but I can never know.

"Oh, I have an idea," John blurted out and stuffed his pen into his pocket. "We should all come over to your place and have a big Christmas and everything!"

Ringo noticeably perked up and nodded enthusiastically, basically acting like George whenever I bring up an idea.

"C'mon guys, its so soon and—" I tried to say but I was silenced by John.

"Please Macca! Please? We'll be nice and everything! We'll be like silent, little mice and only eat cheese if we have to!"

"What about the—"

"But what about George? I'm sure…okay I can't be sure about John, but I'll try to make sure to have fun with him too. Why not?" Ringo added too in hopes of swaying my opinion.

"Well there's lots of—"

"Then it's settled," John shouted out with glee and ran over to George to bring him back over to the table. "We'll be coming over to your place for Christmas!"

George brightened a whole lot more than he was before and started to tug on my arm vigorously.

"Let's get ready then! C'mon Paulie, let's go!"

. . . . . . . . .

"Do you want a ham or turkey?" I asked as we walked down the supermarket aisle.

"Why would we get a ham, Paul? What's so special about ham?"

"What's so special about turkey? It's only a giant bird that people eat on Thanksgiving."

"But it's the only bird that people eat on Thanksgiving! So it is special."

I groaned irritably and looked along the walls again to see if there would be something we could agree on.

"Pot roast then? That doesn't sound too bad…"

George made a face and looked away.

"I'd rather have the ham than that."

"The ham it is then," I ended quickly and threw the big ham into the cart. "Now we'll need other stuff. What do you think?"

"Umm, veggies. And pie! Is Dot making some stuff?"

I nodded and he jumped up and down wildly.

"Yeah, but I'll have to remind her not to get too many sweets because you're around."

"And she'll need to get eggnog too! Remember that."

We stayed in the store for what felt like hours until the cart got full of everything George thought we should get. Apparently hot chocolate, peppermints and marshmallows had to be very high on the list, before the ham even, because they were supposedly something you couldn't leave behind when it came to Christmas.

"This will be awesome! Snow will be everywhere and presents will be around too," George beamed and stuffed more things into the cart, right when he sneezed.

"Hey, you can't get sick today of all days, Georgie. Or else Santa'll be very upset."

"No way," he sneezed again. "I'm George Harrison. Nothing can stop me from having an awesome Christmas!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'll honestly try not to bring up Beatles songs in every chapter but I can never promise with stuff like that. XD Thank you to all the people that reviewed on my chapters and who is going to!


	4. We Wish You A Merry Christmas

"Paul, next Christmas, can you call me at least two days in advance before you go off and do something crazy like this?" Dot shouted from in the kitchen.

I nodded and nearly slapped myself in the head because I knew she couldn't see me from here and continued to put up the nutcrackers along with giving George another thick blanket.

"Sorry, it was kind of forced on me last minute," I answered back.

The poor kid's forehead was as hot as a heater but he continued to say that he was freezing.

"I really doubt that McCartney."

I held back a laugh and went into the kitchen to get the medicine for George. Also to steal a tangerine from Dot but the smack on the head was well worth the trouble for it.

"Do you think you'll be up to the party tonight, Georgie?" I asked him as I handed him the cough medicine he needed. He noticeably paled but took it with shaky hands.

"Not really but I'll still get presents, right?" he asked with a big amount of hope.

I snickered and wiped away the sweat gathering at the fringe of his hair.

"Yeah, of course. I mean, unless Santa doesn't like sick kids. Then you better get to work with that medicine."

George's eyes got wide like plates and he picked up the little cup and gulped it down in a second only to stick his tongue out in utter disgust.

"Why can't we get better tasting cough medicine?"

"Because there's no such thing. Does your throat feel any better?"

He shook his head, sneezing all the while and I had to duck in cover as the germs went around.

"Thanks for trying to get me sick," I muttered and got out of my not so discreet hiding spot behind the couch.

"No problem. Then you'd be stuck here under dozens of blankets with me," George groaned and hid in the blankets to get some warmth.

I walked into the kitchen again and gave Dot a hug. She pushed me away but I pouted and gave her a hug again and tickled her too.

"Hey! I'm still mad at you, and you should know that!"

I held my hands up in shock and looked around.

"What did I do? I don't remember any—"

"That tangerine was supposed to go to the ham, Paul."

"How? What was—"

"You're not allowed to ask anymore. I'm still mad at you."

And she turned her back on me to work once again on the food, which made me bored since George was probably one step away to a day of sleep.

"Oh, I forgot to say. Brian called up to see what two other people were doing at the door of the apartment building asking for you."

I stopped in my tracks and turned around. Hopefully John didn't get bored and try climbing the building like Spiderman or something weirder.

"What time did he call?" I asked quickly. She tapped her foot for a while in thought and I had to applaud her for getting back at me. Later though, but at the moment we were kind of running on borrowed time before the crazy things happened.

"Not too long ago. Maybe around the time you were talking to George I think."

"Alright, thanks for everything Dot," I told her, putting a little kiss on her cheek and went back into the living room to get George.

"Why do I have to come?" he asked groggily. I switched from one foot to another in impatience and looked at the time.

"Because Brian wouldn't say no to you. He likes you more. Plus, you're sick. No one would say no to a poor little sick kid."

"It's not like I'm an orphan," George joked and finally got up but still took a quilt with him that I didn't remember giving him.

"Yeah, but he'd have no reason to say no now."

So we went out of our apartment and through the warm hallways to get down to the first floor where Brian lived. I knocked on the door a few times and waited as George continued to shiver. Finally it opened and Brian stepped out with a big smile.

"Merry Christmas, boys!" he said warmly and we both smiled, though George sniffled a bit.

"Merry Christmas to you too, Brian. About the two people outside, I—"

"Oh, it's taken care of, Paul." I probably looked freaked out because he laughed a little and put a hand on my shoulder. "They should be somewhere around here."

"Alright. How'd you know they actually knew me?"

He laughed at that and George managed a confused look.

"What's so funny, Brian?" he rasped out. It only made Brian laugh a bit more.

"When one of them said that when he first met Paul, his nose was in his studies. Like you usually do."

"Hey, I don't study all the time! I can be laid back!" I argued irritably.

"I highly doubt that. Don't you, John?" I heard a familiar voice say.

"I agree with that. Just doesn't sound like something he would do," another familiar voice said.

The two came out from behind one of the plants behind us and smiled wildly. Ringo tipped his hat with a wink and John sprang straight at me and tackled me to the ground.

"Merry Christmas, Macca!" John shouted in my ear and hugged me tight as I was sprawled on the ground thanks to him. I tried to push him off but he continued to tighten his grip until I was pinned to the ground by an overexcited child-like guy.

"Can you please get up?" I ask lamely. He frowned and rolled his eyes.

"You're supposed to say 'Merry Christmas to you too'!"

"Okay, fine. Merry Christmas to you too, John!" I tell him and try to push him off one last time. He merely put his glasses on my face and gets up.

"That's all I wanted. C'mon let's go!"

He helped me up and everything but I still felt like I was going to fall down or crash into something, which made him help me out till we got back to my apartment instead of just taking off the blinding things.

"How did George get sick?" Ringo asked quietly as he almost literally carried George through the halls.

"I don't know. It might be the fact that he barely went out of the apartment," I told him plainly and tried looking at my own hands, which looked like bloated sausages that were way too close to my face.

"How's your eyesight, John?"

"Horrible and nearsighted! Why do you ask?"

"Uhh...no reason...no reason at all."

By the time we got back to Dot, George was asleep in Ringo's arms and I had a growing headache from the glasses while John was jumping up and down with excitement. I got my keys out of my pocket but when I tried to put it into the hole, I kept missing easily.

"Oh come on Paulie, you had it the last time!" John encouraged with fits of laughter. I shoved the key in his direction and made him do it, which he did surprisingly well. I walked straight into the door, but at least I got inside.

"Hey, Dot! I'm back with a couple of friends!"

I heard something drop in the kitchen after I said that and I awaited the fight that might happen. Instead, Dot walked over and laughed wildly at us all.

"Aww, Paul, you leave for only five minutes and you already need glasses. And you got George all tired too."

She walked over in Ringo's direction, said a quick thank you to him and brought George back over to the couch.

"By the way," Dot said nicely. "I never got your names."

"I'm John," John said with a smile. "And this is Ringo, my faithful assistant."

"I'm not your assistant!"

"Very true...very true...you are my humble apprentice. How could I forget!"

"I'm not your apprentice either!"

Dot's face grew red with mirth and she waved a quick good bye to go back into the kitchen.

"Well now we wait for our darling girls," John told Ringo as he took Ringo's hat.

"Wait, you never said you were going to bring other people," I smirked but on the inside I was wondering if Dot had enough food for a few more, even if she had extra because of George.

"Well you have your girlfriend, why can't we have ours," John poked and put on Ringo's Santa hat that he took before.

Not too soon after George finally woke up, John and Ringo's girls came up to join the party.

"Sorry we came so late, we had to get presents for little George," Cynthia of the two said with a big smile as they held big bags filled to their tops with stuff.

Instantly, George brightened up and jumped away from Ringo's hold to see what they had.

"Cool! There's a giant teddy in here! Thanks Cynthia and Maureen," George shouted with a very George Harrison special smile and hugged them both. This wasn't going to be a bad Christmas at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Today will be full of just posting chapters and stuff . . . but don't expect updates to always be like this. Sorry, but it's just the truth. Now go on and review! Cookies await you there! And who knows, they may be the molasses kind.


	5. Little Georgie-Lou Who

Paul, John and Ringo were gathered around the round, wooden table off to the left in Paul's flat, and eating Dot's cookies with gusto. Every once in a while, Paul or Ringo would try to get George to eat one but he continued to bury himself deeper in his rather large mound of blankets on the couch.

Before they managed to finish all the cookies, the door opened with Cynthia and Maureen coming in cheerfully, bags of food as well as toys in hand.

"Sorry we came in late, we had to get presents for little George," Cynthia apologized as she tried to find the bag that held the toys.

George's head popped out of the blankets and he quickly walked to the two girls, getting out of Ringo's hold as the elder tried to get him to eat a cookie. He quickly brightened up and hugged them both as he peered into the bag.

"Cool! There's a giant teddy here! Thanks Cynthia and Maureen!" George shouted in a raspy voice and gave him one of his very special smiles.

"Oh, it's no problem at all, George!" Maureen smiled. She gave George a hug as she handed him the rather lightweight bags she was holding; however, seeing him teeter under even that slight weight, she quickly took them back.

"Uhh, sorry," replied George quietly. "Can I just take the teddy bear for now?" He took the teddy with a faint smile, giving Maureen and Cynthia one last hug before hiding under the blankets on the couch again.

Ringo stuffed one last cookie into his mouth, then ran over to give his girlfriend a slightly belated hug and a peck on the cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Mo," he said with a slight smile, but she didn't respond as she craned her neck to look into the kitchen.

"Do you think someone's in there? I hear . . . noises and such coming from that room. Like pots and pans clanging," she murmured to Cynthia after a large rattle came from the kitchen.

"Yeah, John! Is anyone in there?" Cynthia asked John who was hyper as usual.

John's head popped up from the giant cup of hot chocolate he was clutching, and he nodded vigorously, causing some of the drink to splash onto the most random parts of his face. He grinned excitedly as he thought of it and took another drink; only getting more of the hot beverage on his face.

"Yup, Dot's making ham . . . isn't she, Paul?" John turned to his friend for confirmation.

Paul searched for John through John's extremely thick glasses that were sitting on the end of Paul's nose. The teaching student blinked owlishly and looked not at John, but at a framed picture on the wall of Marilyn Monroe instead.

"She is," replied Paul, still looking at the picture of Marilyn. "I hope she's not mad about the tangerine still," he added with a snicker.

"You should be in the kitchen, helping her. She's not just around to cook, you know," Maureen scolded.

Paul blinked. "Sorry, Maureen. I—"

"Not another word, Paul," she cut in with a motherly tone.

Ringo snickered as Paul played along with Maureen's attitude and bowed his head like a kid.

"Go in there and help her out," Maureen added as she pointed in the direction of the continuing clatter. Paul dragged his feet along, but not without failing to contain his laughter, even as he bumped into the wall.

"Wow, you really took care of Paul well, Mo," John joked as he got up and pulled Cynthia to one of the chairs in the living room.

Maureen blushed and hid in Ringo's embrace.

George groaned loudly after the hug, making them jump. George glared weakly at them over the head of his teddy bear, causing a few snickers only to make George's glare stronger.

"Can you guys please stop with all the icky romance stuff? Me and Danny are trying to sleep . . . unless you guys want to get an angry sick person for Christmas," George grumbled and hugged the teddy bear tightly.

"Your teddy bear is named Danny?" John inquired with a mischievous grin.

George shot John a death glare. "Of course he is! So stop being mushy and junk."

"Looks like we'll have to be extra cuddly and mushy then," Ringo mused happily. He nuzzled his large nose against Maureen's hair to George's irritation.

Paul stumbled into the room, Dot helping him the whole way. She giggled and smiled widely along the way.

"Whoever put these glasses on his face is a genius. He's finally stopped being so boring!" enthused Dot.

John tipped his Santa hat in her direction and she curtsied, only to have Paul lose his balance. He nearly tripped over his own feet when she let go and only gained it again when George grabbed his arm at the last minute.

"I'm not boring! Why do people keep saying that?" Paul asked no one in particular as he looked at the small coffee table, which was in the middle of the group.

"Yeah, you do, Paulie . . . it's in your nature," George told him. The high school student sat up, apparently realizing that getting a bit of sleep was going to be impossible with so many people talking at the same time.

"Not true, I can be fun anytime I want," Paul argued. He didn't need to take off John's glasses to tell that everyone disagreed with him.

"You guys are the boring ones around here," he mumbled in defeat. He tried to scoop a cookie out of the bowl on the table, but missed horribly. Instead, he dipped his hand into his cup of cocoa. He instantly jumped up and ran out of the room. As he was muttering about his misfortunes, everyone else laughed wildly.

"Paul! Did you burn your hand too badly?" John called over to the teaching student who was hiding in the bathroom.

"What do you think?" Paul shouted back.

John gasped and feigned shock for a moment as he ran to the closed door.

"So you need to go to the hospital?" John asked. He had his ear very close to the door to hear the response.

"No! Just leave me alone for a moment. . ."

John trudged back to his seat with Cynthia and waited for Paul to come back. It happened to take a rather long time.

"Let me show you how laid-back I can be then," Paul murmured, bringing up the topic again when he came back into the room. Only this time there was a towel wrapped around his hand.

"Okay, put your hand back into the cup of cocoa," John requested quickly.

Ringo clapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing.

"No," Paul pouted and cradled his hand to his chest as if to protect it to John, "I'd . . . um . . . I would go off to a club, even!"

John gasped in mock horror and covered Cynthia's ears. George looked confusedly at John, who stuck his tongue out at George. George returned the gesture, and soon their faces were both a deep purple shade of purple.

"There are women around, McCartney. You should watch your tongue," John stage-whispered mockingly.

"You didn't watch yours just a few seconds ago," Paul noted.

"Watch it," John told him with a look similar to Aunt Mimi's stern one.

"Fine. Fine, I'm sorry. Are you happy now, sir?" Paul asked him to get rid of John's strict-looking face.

John raised an eyebrow, stroking his chin thoughtfully. He then looked to Cynthia for approval on whether or not to say he was happy.

She nodded, giggling, and playfully shoved John away from her side.

"Yes, I'm very happy now. Thanks for asking," John deadpanned. He shoved Cynthia in the same playful manner she had done to him and walked over to where George was sitting.

George hid behind Danny the teddy, but peeked over the stuffed animal's shoulder to see what John would do next. So far, John was just staring at his nails with a bored look.

"Can we watch a movie now?" George asked feebly. "John's kind of scaring me."

Silence fell over the room for a second before everyone except John and George burst out laughing. John had a hurt look on his face. Wide eyes, trembling lip, utter disbelief and all.

"I did nothing, it was Danny here that's scaring people. He's not blinking!" retorted John.

. . . . . . . . .

 _How the Grinch Stole_ _Christmas_ ended up being the group's movie choice. So at every chance they got, John and George acted out everything. They even got Ringo and Paul to join in at times.

"Macca, do you have a Santa suit around?" John asked out loud. He threw jackets and scarfs out of the closet near the living room into a giant mess on the floor behind him to find said costume.

"What do you mean?" Paul asked in a baffled way as he gave George a sideways glance. Lucky for them both, George was too busy looking at the TV to see if the scene was close to ending.

Paul walked over to where John was, swiftly getting out the Santa suit John was looking for and shoved it in John's direction.

"Don't say where you got it," Paul whispered. "Just say you . . . brought it along."

John gave him a bored look for an answer, walking off to put on the red suit.

After the wait for the little costume change, they went straight into the scene the movie was at. George was the small Cindy-Lou Who, watching as John took the stockings Paul hung earlier.

"Santy Claus, why are you taking our stockings? Why?" George asked John the Grinch. He asked it in such a soft, child-like voice that all the girls moved closer to George. Their faces showed they obviously wanted to give the young kid a big hug.

"Because as you can see, there are threads coming lose on them. I'll just take these to my workshop and fix them," John said sweetly. Confusion quickly swept between the girls. It was getting a bit harder to decide who was giving a good performance.

"And his fib fooled the child," Paul narrated in a booming voice. "Then he patted his head, got her drink, and sent her to bed."

John then pushed George into the hands of the patient women. A gleam of mischief came into his eyes as he let Ringo the dog hold all the taken things, allowing him to continue with deed.

But as John got very close to taking all the decorations down—also making Dot nearly tear her hair out in the process—Ringo and George started to sing. They were on their knees, singing in high-pitched voices the same nonsensical song that was sung in the movie. John then set down the decorations in a rush and held up a hand to his ear to hear the two sing.

"What happened then?" Paul asked in his booming narrating voice. "In Whoville they say that the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day!"

John, with a heartwarming smile, ran over and joined the two in the repetitive song. George even brought Danny the teddy bear over to fill in for Paul.

"And he, he himself, the Grinch carved the ham!" Paul ended, narrating voice and all. He carried in the giant ham to the dining table and everyone hurried over to finally eat the main course.

"We should have gotten a roast beef. It goes with the story," noticed George as he watched John carved the ham.

"But you said that you didn't want the roast beef!" Paul shouted from the kitchen as he helped Dot get out more of the food.

"That was before this happened. Now I want roast beef!" George called back.

Paul walked out of the kitchen and glared at George with a small smile coming in.

"No. It's too late for that. Just go for the marshmallows. We go those just in time for you," Paul said softly. He gave a wink and rushed back into the kitchen.

. . . . . . . . .

By the time most of the food was finished, George had somehow fallen asleep, and all the girls started to mollycoddle him in his sleep. How they did it, the world may never know. This then left the other three boys to be the wild people they were.

"Y'know," John said with an impish smile as he finished off his third cup of hot chocolate. "We really should go to a club or something."

He reached for a fourth snowman-decorated mug, but Paul took it out of his reach. Paul then downed it in one gulp quickly so he couldn't try to get it back.

"I thought you said that we shouldn't do that," Ringo remembered.

"That was only so I seemed like a good gentlemen. Unlike Macca here that is," John teased as Paul started to bounce up and down in his chair with a wild grin the more he drank the hot chocolate.

"I'm sure Mo and Cyn saw right through it though," Ringo told him as he pushed Paul away when the latter tried to start a tickle fight.

"Yeah…so we'll all have to be on our best behavior!" John cautioned lightheartedly.

Paul frowned and picked up a gingerbread cookie that was near them.

"I want to get a dog sometime soon . . . but Dot's allergic," Paul said out of the blue. A small smile came to his face as he thought about it.

John's nose crinkled, and he shook his head. The serious face he had before came back as he took his glasses thick glasses from Paul and put them on his face.

"You should get a cat then," John said simply.

"We've already got a cat though," Paul told John, saying it as if it were as plain as the nose on his face.

"And where is he…or she," Ringo asked unsurely and looked around the apartment in case he'd somehow missed an animal.

"He's curled up on the couch under the blankets, snoring," replied Paul, pointing at George.

John shook his head in mock disappointment. A faint smirk came onto his face and the longer he thought about it, the bigger the smirk got.

"Great, now I can't look at my cat the same way anymore. All I'll see is George's head. Thanks a lot, Paul," John said sarcastically.

"No problem, John!" replied Paul brightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The teddy was named Danny for a lose reference to Dhani Harrison. As in, I saw they both started with the letter D and ran with it. I'm just weird like that. Plus, you now see why George still believes in Santa. Bad Paul...So thanks again to all you awesome people that reviewed on this story! Who ever is forcing you to to this must be very persistent. ;)


	6. New Year's Mystery

Paul smiled widely at a child's art piece. Front and center was a tall stick figure with a large house behind him and green smoke coming out of it. Speaking of green, that was the only color on the page. But the child drawing it, Mason, seemed to love it that way.

Surrounding them were other little kids that came to the small event at 4 pm. They weren't really surrounding them though, most of them were running around. The kids weren't quiet either. They were either shouting at the top of their lungs, throwing things around, smashing things into other things, or Paul's 'favorite', singing on end the same verse with no signs of stopping.

 _I wish they'd all shut up!_ Paul thought angrily. He never thought adorable kids like these could be so. . .infuriating!

He couldn't blame his college for not having a big enough room but he could easily blame the school for bringing more than enough kids. Thank goodness he was paired up with Mason, a nice child who hadn't gotten up for anything other than crayons and paper.

"That's a great drawing, Mason!" Paul beamed, and the child looked at the paper with a smile showing that he was missing one of his front teeth.

"Can I ask who it is?" Paul asked as he looked at the green covered page a bit more closely. Mason nodded and gave another big smile.

"It's you of course, Mr. McCartney," Mason told Paul as he started to add more green to the hair.

"So what grade are you in again?" inquired Paul, shifting his weight from his right leg to his left.

"I'm in 1st grade! Do you want to sit down?" asked Mason, bouncing up and down in place.

Paul nodded and sat on the stool closest to Mason. It creaked ominously, and he tried to distribute his weight as evenly as possible, as it was made for a little kid.

"You seem to be really good at art for a little—uh, I mean first grader," Paul noted.

Suddenly, Paul's phone buzzed in his pocket, making him jump. The stool protested loudly, but Mason didn't seem to notice. Instead, he started to talk quickly:

"Thank you, Mr. McCartney! My mommy says that I'm really good too so she says that's why Santa got me a big box of Crayons and other color stuff!"

"That sounds wonderful, Mason! Do you like all of the crayons you got?"

Mason nodded enthusiastically and went back to his drawing, letting Paul check who texted him. Yes, it was New Year's Eve, but he wanted to get the hands-on training, so he must have told everyone that they couldn't call or text… possibly.

John: Are you ready to have fun tonight?

Paul looked at his phone with confusion and started to type a response.

Me: What fun?

John: Going to the pub of course!

Me: I thought you were joking….

John: Well I wasn't! So, I'm at my school right now getting some supplies…just come by and I'll take you to the place. Ringo's already on his way. And George is at his parents, right?

Me: Yeah…how did you know that?

John: You told me while you were hyper….you're very chatty when you're hyper you know. So are you coming?

Me: Alright, just text me your school's address. I'll be there when I'm done with what I'm doing.

Paul stuffed his phone back into his pocket and opened his mouth to continue talking to Mason. Instead, the bell rang, ending the short class. Mason continued to color the page, not noticing the other children leaving.

"Mason, the class is over. I'm sure you'll have coloring time at home," a professor said softly as he came over to the table the two were at.

Mason looked up instantly at the professor, his bottom lip jutting out along with his eyes getting rounder. To add onto the scene, Mason quickly grabbed Paul's leg, having a surprisingly strong grip.

"But I had fun with Mr. McCartney! Can I stay longer?" the little boy asked.

The professor raised an impressed brow as he scribbled down notes. After writing them down, he then finally talked to the child that was cutting off blood circulation in Paul's leg.

"I'm sorry, time is up right now. Your mom will be waiting for you, although there is a good chance you will meet Mr. McCartney at your school when this starts up again."

"What?" Paul and Mason asked in unison.

Mason finally lost his tight grip so Paul could grasp his hand and not let the younger one squeeze his leg again.

"This was a test to see whether you could properly connect and teach a child something, though I suggest you don't tell your classmates. That goes for both of you. Have a happy New Year," the professor said.

The man quickly walked to the others talking at a table across the room.

"I can't wait to see you again, Mr. McCartney," Mason squealed, and he started to run out of the door, with Paul not too far behind to stop him.

"Neither can I! Do you see your mom anywhere yet?"

The young child looked around at the many cars parked in the parking lot.

"Yeah! The red car right there. It has a smiley face sticker on it." Mason then pointed to it and led Paul all the way there. Paul also made sure to watch for cars coming in and out of the lot. Mason's random burst of energy were also something to watch out for.

"Thank you. See you next time!" Mason said as he got into his mom's car and waved, along with his mother who gave Paul a pretty lengthy thanks.

The second the car left the lot, Paul went to his car and turned on his phone to see the directions. It was actually not too far from his school; not even a mile away.

He drove straight to the building, although having to pull up a GPS when he nearly got lost. Nonetheless, he got to the large building; walking right into it with a spring in his step from earlier that day.

He stopped in his tracks. He finally realized that he had no idea which room John was in, making the short trip a bit longer and much harder.

So of course Paul looked around.

He went into the room closet to him, finding a rather boring computer lecture. Everyone turned to look at Paul with quizzical faces, making the one at question back away awkwardly.

"And what are you doing here?" the man at the podium asked with a raised brow.

"I...um...just looking for someone!" Paul nervously answered. He rushed out of the room, slamming the door with a _bang!_ behind him.

"I'm never taking a computer class," he muttered with a frown. He went over to the next door, which was across the hall.

It was filled with people wearing weird hats. They were in rather uncomfortable looking poses with someone taking pictures of the scene at every angle.

"Hello!" The person taking pictures chirped happily. Everyone looked at Paul's direction, taking a moment of relaxation to wave at him.

"Goodbye!" Paul said with the same amount of enthusiasm. He shut the door in a calmer manner than before, thinking about what happened.

"Not the weirdest thing I've seen in my life," Paul told himself with slight indecisiveness.

He walked to yet another door and swung it open with growing irritation.

"Oh, hello! Are you our other nude model?" someone from behind a canvas asked. Paul was going to ask what that person meant by that when he looked at the center of the circle of canvases. A lady was sitting on a stool, not wearing a single article of clothing and not at all bothered by the people around her. She seemed relaxed about it, too relaxed for Paul's taste.

He didn't answer but ran out of the room. He slammed the door with such strength it was a wonder it didn't break.

"I did not just see that. I did not just see that," Paul continuously murmured to himself in a dazed fashion.

The college student went into a room far down the hall he was in and simply locked himself in it. He continued to tell himself that he didn't see what he just saw until he gathered his wits.

When he did, he looked up and stared in wonder at the person in front of him.

John was sitting quietly in front of a canvas and adding great detail to what he was drawing. What surprised Paul was that he was quiet.

Paul gave the room another look and noticed it was empty, save for himself and John. He might as well say something.

"You never told me you could draw like this!" Paul gasped in amazement.

John jumped but calmly regained his cool by adding a bit to the canvas again.

"Well, there's this cool thing called knocking. . .why didn't you use it?" replied John snidely.

Paul shrugged and looked more closely at the canvas.

"Is that a man looking at a flying thing?" Paul asked John when he finally stopped drawing.

"No, it's a man looking at a four-legged thing. . .there's a difference. Now let's go! Ringo's probably getting started without us!" John then jumped up and dragged Paul out of the school. Somehow got to Paul's car without any help.

"Where's your car?" Paul asked as John was backing out with surprising smoothness.

"Ringo dropped me off so it's with him. He apparently doesn't trust me to drive," John sighed in mock sadness.

Paul laughed along with John and looked out the window to see the rather magnificent building. Seconds later, he was what felt like miles away from it.

"How are you driving this fast without getting pulled over?" Paul shouted as they made a very dangerous turn.

"I may know a couple of policemen," John replied offhandedly as they ran a red light. Paul looked down at his seat belt in fear. He hoped the car dealer was right when he said the safety rating was great.

"Are we almost there yet?" Paul asked after yet another car honked at them. John rolled his eyes.

"Don't worry Macca, just another couple turns."

"I agree with Ringo, you aren't to be trusted with a car."

"I am so! You're not injured, are you?"

"No, but I'm still scared that I will be!"

Another quick series of turns were made, John pulled into a restaurant called _The Lansdowne_ , coming in rather smoothly. The instant the car stopped, Paul jumped out and swayed like a thin branch as he attempted to see if his car was horribly scratched.

"How did you not scratch it?" he mumbled in confusion. John simply smirked with pride and faced _The Lansdowne._

"Me being wonderful, that's how. Now come on, there's only 3 hours 'til New Year's!" John then started to drag Paul into the well-lit building.

After a bit of waiting and talking to one of the hostesses, they finally got to the bar, greeted by a bored Ringo.

"I kind of thought you guys forgot about me," Ringo joked as Paul collapsed into the chair next to him.

"How could I?" Paul replied with a snicker. "I was having my life flash before my eyes so you'd be hard to forget."

Ringo's eyes widened. He shook his head while wagging his finger accusingly at Paul.

"That's why you shouldn't let John drive! You're basically asking for a death sentence," said Ringo.

John cleared his throat comically and pouted sadly.

"I'm still here you know. And since you haven't asked, I'll tell you that the car's in one piece!"

"Lucky…he practically destroyed my old car. So as a birthday present he got me a new one."

"No, my Aunt Mimi got you a new car…I just told her I needed a car, to lessen the anger," John cleared up and a waiter came over to take the order.

"Three orders of fish and chips along with the best the place has," Ringo and John told the man simultaneously. The waiter blinked for a moment before writing the order down, walking away in confusion.

"Wait, what do you mean by 'the best the place has'?" Paul asked as he looked at the restaurant's décor. It had a rather friendly feeling to it, with a little club band, people dancing and everything. There was also old boarding on the walls to give it an authentic pub look.

"Oh, don't be innocent! We'll definitely be feeling this tomorrow," John cackled, making what he said seem inevitable.

"Then I need to make a call…because I wouldn't let you drive again even with a lot of alcohol in me," Paul muttered. He walked little while away from his two friends to pull out his phone and call Brian.

"Hi Eppy," Paul called into the phone. A slight chuckle came through from the other end of the line.

"Hello Paul. Anything you need from me?"

It was Paul's turn to laugh and a woman with red hair not too far away heard. She gave a sly grin, getting up and slowly walking to Paul.

"Actually, yeah. Would you be able to pick me and some friends up later? I'll text you the address soon."

Paul over time noticed her. She was pretty but he knew she had something she wanted to do. So ignoring is what came to mind as he talked to Brian.

"I doubt that you would remember this conversation in an hour or two," Brian laughed. "I'll come over around midnight, is that okay?"

"It really is. Thanks for everything Eppy," Paul said gratefully. The redhead came closer and hugged Paul tightly.

"Don't do that," he muttered and pried the woman from his body.

"What was that Paul?" Brian asked.

She poked out her bottom lip, making it quiver like Mason's did earlier that day. But he couldn't compare the two since Mason's was genuine. This one was just a step in a many layered plan. One that Paul wasn't going to be part of.

"Nothing, Brian. I'll just text you the address now. Thanks again," The teaching student simply stated. He hung up, walking back to his friends and away from the mysterious lady.

"And here I thought Paul was a gentleman," John criticised mockingly.

Paul turned around and saw that the redhead was still looking at him. He couldn't put his finger on it but there was something about her. He just didn't know what.

"I am. The ladies can't resist my charm and wit, you know," Paul said with a wink.

"Okay, Paul's no longer a gentleman and John can still crack jokes. Can we just get this New Year started like our founding fathers wanted?" Ringo asked impatiently.

John nodded seriously, with an impish grin contradicting it.

"Ringo's right," John said with a new found wisdom. "Let's get this party started!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm sure you wanted it in 1st person POV now. Don't worry! The next chapter is exactly that! Don't worry. I'm rather happy with Mason, he's adorable so he'll be fun to have around when I bring him back up later in the story. To those that comment: Who's paying you this large amount? I would like to meet him . . . To those that don't: We seem to be all alone. Maybe commenting will help!


	7. The Best Dream Ever

I woke up, but I didn't open my eyes. Why, you ask? Because the sun for some reason decided to be too bright! So it didn't help my headache. And that didn't help the fact that I felt like showing whoever else in the room what I had to eat yesterday.

I heard a groan somewhere near me with as much irritation as I felt. I thought that was a good enough reason to crack open an eye. It hurt much more than it should to get one eyelid open and another would just be torture.

"Close the blind-y windows thing," I mumbled to no one in particular.

Seconds later, the blinds _actually closed_. It was like they heard me! A bit of shuffling footsteps came after the blinds closed to my now overly sensitive ears.

"Paul? Are you awake yet?" someone asked in front of me. I winced at how loud he was.

"I wish I wasn't," I quietly said in response.

"Sorry, but it looks like you'll be stuck with this for a while."

"But Bri," I whined, closing my eye again. "My head hurts...and so does my stomach...and I'm tired."

"You shouldn't have been drinking so much then. When I came to the restaurant, you three were already tripping over your feet and laughing at every word someone said!" Brian whispered.

I took a moment to give a look of confusion. Then I slipped back into my irritated stupor.

"Why did you come over? How'd you know I was there?"

Brian sighed and I knew he was giving me one of those looks. As in he's both bothered and concerned. I wasn't too fond of the look.

"I told you that you wouldn't remember the call, not one bit. Now, I think you should stop resting on Ringo. I don't think he likes being a pillow," Brian teased as he swept away a stray hair from my face.

I tried swatting his hand away but he was like lightning compared to me. So giving up seemed much easier than trying again.

"But Ringo's a very comfy pillow. I don't wanna get up," I whispered, trying my childish tactic. Maybe I could prolong the inevitable headache which was getting up.

"Maybe Ringo doesn't want to be a pillow," the subject of the conversation interjected.

"But you would make a very good pillow. . ."

"Macca, are you seriously trying to hit on Ringo? You could do much better," John snorted but his voice sounded slower than the night before. I wouldn't blame him on that.

"And why would you say that?" Ringo asked and lightly propped me up on the other side of the couch.

I still held onto his arm, because he really did make a good pillow.

"Paul has these rather girly eyes so he could attract any guy. Emphasis on any guy," John said slowly. He smirked right after and I knew he only butted into the conversation for that joke.

"I told you already, I don't have girly eyes!" I yelled weakly.

Both Brian and Ringo burst out laughing and I gave them both the best glare I could give. It calm them down, just for a few seconds when they started laughing once again.

"When did you guys talk about this? I want to be in a talk like that!" Ringo shouted with far too much excitement for that topic.

"I'd like to know how it started," Brian chucked.

His amusement was making me scared of what John might say.

"Well it all began when I thought Paul was a girl. . ." John started.

In an instance, Brian and Ringo started to laugh all over again. I meekly hid my head in my hands, wishing I wasn't there.

To my luck-which I thankfully have a lot of-the door opened loudly. George walked through, looking like he just had the best dream ever.

"I'm back from my parent's house! And I feel like I've had the best dream ever!" George gushed with a smile.

It looks like I wasn't too far off.

"What happened, George?" Brian asked.

George looked over to Brian with a confused look. He tilted his head to the side for extra measure, along with arching an eyebrow.

"I thought you were supposed to be at that lawyer thing today. What happened?" George asked Brian. I was surprised when he shrugged his shoulders. Brian usually never shrugs his shoulders.

"Wait, he's a lawyer?" Ringo gasped.

"It doesn't matter right now!" John shouted heartily. "Tell your story already!"

"Okay, she's this pretty blonde girl who's supermodel good. Like, so good if she were in a movie, music would be playing in the background. Or people would stop whatever they're doing to look at her. _That good_. And her name is wonderful: Pattie Boyd," George ended with a happy sigh.

"Then she looked at me with this great big smile and her eyes looked like individual stars trapped in pretty sky blue orbs.

"Her walk practically radiated smarts and confidence along with the way she waved. It was like she knew me for years and wanted to have a chat," He murmured serenely. George started to sway in his happy trance with his smile getting bigger.

"Wait, how do you know her name if you just met her?" Brian asked.

"Because I heard Eric Clapton-my best friend-say her name!" George yelled, suddenly coming back down to Earth. His smile and swaying disappeared quickly. "And that's when everything came crashing down."

"What do you mean, Georgie?" Ringo asked with a sudden frown.

"He kissed her, Ringo! Right in front of me! And then she kissed him back! It was like they didn't see anyone else around!" George whined sadly. He instantly clung to Brian, not letting go even though Brian futilely asked for him to.

"Well, it is considered rude not to kiss someone back in certain countries. Maybe she came from one of them," John mused simply.

George gave him a long glare, loosening his grip on Brian for only a second before tightening it again.

"You shouldn't have said that, John," Eppy told John over George's shoulder.

"Its true though, we can't mess with anyone's culture. I, for one, wouldn't want to mess with that part," John joked lightly. It only earned another glare from George.

"Okay! Okay, I'm sorry. What's so special about Clapton anyways?" The art student asked.

George heaved a sigh and plopped onto the couch between me and Ringo.

"He's the quarterback on the football team. Everyone loves him," George answered with slight disgust.

"Yeah, but you're the best batter you school's got!" I reminded George before he got stuck in a rut.

"George is a slugger? Wow! Before the end of the day, Paul will tell me he went to the moon and met the president. Then locked Justin Bieber up," Ringo grumbled.

"But I'm only the best because I actually try when I play. Unlike most of my team who only try for the ice cream after. When Eric plays, he says it comes naturally, and that he doesn't know where he gets his skills. I know a liar when I see one. . .and he is one," George sneered.

He stormed into his room, with loud guitar strumming coming after the door slammed harshly.

"Well, is it safe to assume that those two aren't best friends anymore?" Ringo asked slowly.

I shook my head, kind of wishing I hadn't gotten him a semi-acoustic.

"Nah, George knows not to let a girl in the way of friendship," I said with a smile.

I only hoped I was right. George took things a bit too heart even with the most ridiculous things.

"That's right, Paulie! He knows the old saying, bros before h-" John started enthusiastically.

"John! Don't say that!" Brian yelped. He frowned at John with a slight scowl.

"But everyone knows it! It's a phrase that's kept friendship together since the beginning of time!" John retaliated quickly.

"I doubt that's true. Guys were too busy being eaten by dinosaurs or trying not to be eaten by them to care. Girls were not apart of the equation. They were kept together by food. So it'd be dudes before foods," Ringo explained in the middle of it all.

I should start warming a bag of popcorn, this might start to get somewhat exciting.

"Ringo, my faithful to a fault assistant. I get your confusion, but it's clearly my phrase that trumps all. It's just more widely known and more understood," John told Ringo happily.

"Yours is also more disgusting," Brian muttered as he looked at his watch for a moment.

"And I'm not your assistant!" Ringo added.

"Yes you are! Why else do you drive me everywhere?" John exclaimed.

"Because I don't want to die!" Ringo shouted back. "And I really like the car your Aunt Mimi gave me."

A sudden stop to the wild guitar playing came. Everyone looked over to the direction of George's room, seeing a very confused looking George holding his guitar by its neck in the door way.

Maybe the conversation was a bit entertaining after all. Maybe a bit too entertaining at some points.

It took everything in me to not take a picture of George standing there with no clue on what was going on. Mrs. Harrison would have loved a look at it.

"You've finally decided to hang out with the real world, now have you?" John asked in a funny little falsetto.

"No. But I was bored being all alone," said George slowly as he was still trying to take in the conversation Ringo and John had.

"Thanks for being honest. That's definitely bringing up my self-esteem," Brian muttered sarcastically. "And here I thought I was pleasant to be around."

George's eyes instantly grew wider at what Brian said. Maybe getting a camera now wasn't too late. . .

"No! I didn't mean it like that! I was just-" George tried to explain but our landlord burst out laughing before George could finish.

"You guys are mean," George fumed. He sat on the floor in a meditating position with a guitar in his lap and frustration on his face.

"I had nothing to do with it!" I shouted in an irritated manner.

"You let them continue to talk. That's enough for me," George answered smoothly.

"Brian! Tell him that's not fair!" I complained.

"That actually is fair in a sense of law. Politicians say so," Brian snickered.

"Well then I hate politicians..." I summed up quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Welcome Pattie Boyd and Eric Clapton to the cast guys! More celebrities the Beatles knew and such will be appearing soon or later on so keep an eye on that. See you Beatlemaniacs in the next chapter! For now, Twist and Shout your way to the comments section!


	8. The Worst Goodbyes And Silliest Hellos

One again, I'm stuck in my teaching classes. It's not like they're so awful that I'm reduced to doodling on a notebook or going on Instagram. The only problem is that I'm scared of what might happen if I stay too long.

Every news channel in the country continues to say that New England—more horribly Boston—is going to be hit with over a foot of snow pretty soon. And I wanted to be home before anything happened.

"Stop worrying so much, Paul. Your hand's starting to get white," someone near me said.

I instantly looked up, letting go of my desk. My hand's proper color slowly but surely returned as I calmed down and relaxed.

"Thanks, but not now, Buddy. I'm worrying about George. That's okay, right?" I asked, absently looking at the time. Hopefully it shoots forward 40 minutes so I won't be stuck at school. God that would be awful.

"It's good you asked, because it actually isn't," Buddy Holly, my good friend, said back.

"It is! I can't let things go along and then start worrying when things go crazy because I didn't plan!"

"You'll go crazy since you did plan, though. That's what you need to worry about, you control freak you."

"And here I thought you didn't worry about my sanity. Thank you."

"No problem, Paul," Buddy calmly said.

"But there's a blizzard coming! We just can't go with the flow. If we do we'll be flung to London by the winds," I whispered harshly.

He raised an eyebrow, his cheeks growing red from amusement.

"And who told you this?" Buddy asked with his eyebrow still raised.

"This weather app on my phone..."

He then took my phone and redirected my attention to our teacher, Mr. Robinson.

Great, now I'm really going to know the definition of boredom. Why can't we just get to the hands on stuff already?

"Hey, you haven't seen George in a long time. Do you mind coming with me to his school before the blizzard hits? It would mean a lot," I asked in a pleading way.

"Focus on the subject, Paul."

"Does that mean yes or no?"

For a moment he sat there, with a contemplating face. Slowly, a grin started to fight its way on as a replacement.

"Okay, fine. Just for Georgie," he muttered.

I cheered a little, even making up a small dance which Buddy laughed at with no hesitation.

"Mr. McCartney, Mr. Holly. What is going on back there?" Mr. Robinson asked, stopping right in the middle of the lecture. Everyone was looking at us with curious glances, making Buddy stand up with a serious face.

"Well, sir," he drawled in his southern accent. "We were just discussing the weather. And also the reason why Paul here will look like he's seventy in the next week. That's no problem, is it, sir?"

Mr. Robinson gave us a stare for a moment that I couldn't decipher at all. He then turned his attention back to the rest of the class, starting the lecture from where he left off. Buddy sat down and gave me my phone back with a small laugh.

"I lied. I should have said you would look eighty next week! God, you have so many reminders, notes and little schedules in this phone that it's giving me a headache," Buddy complained as he gave my phone one last glance.

"They're for George's birthday. And some other stuff," I muttered as I stuffed my phone into my pocket.

"Like what?" he asked. There was so much enthusiasm in the question that I guess I had to answer.

"Well, Dot hasn't called or texted in a few weeks. So I put it in my memo that I need to call her and see what's up," I replied, waiting for the time to run out for this class.

"Is there something up with you two?"

"No. At least I don't think so. I'm sure I haven't done anything wrong."

"Are you sure it isn't all the memos you have on your phone? That could drive anyone crazy," Buddy joked.

I rolled my eyes, ready to have another small argument about my memos and all. As I opened my mouth though, the bell rang loudly, showing that it was the end of class. I guess I'll have to save that comment for later.

We both stood up quickly, scrambling to up our things to go home or do some errands. Actually, everyone was moving just as quickly if not quicker than Buddy and I. Even Mr. Robinson was rushing around and the first person to leave too.

After waiting for everyone to move out of the way, I waited for Buddy to get to his car before getting into my own and led him to George's school, even though he’d been there dozens of times before. It also wasn't too far off from my own school but I noticed that John's school was far closer. Maybe it was just a college thing.

While waiting on the last red light until George's school, I noticed the snow starting to come down. And it wasn't at all a good thing. A second ago, it wasn't here but now . . . it was just everywhere. It only made me go faster as well as more carefully as I continued to go to the high school.

So the second we got to the building, I forced Buddy to go as quick as he could, paying no attention to his complaining.

"Paul! I can get hurt, you know!" Buddy whined as I dragged him up the stairs.

Okay, maybe I did pay attention, but I was in no mood to deal with a complaining Holly and a moody but quiet Harrison. That in itself was torture just thinking about what may happen. So I would take the moody but quiet Harrison any day over them both.

We burst into the big training room that the school had for all the sports, looking for George. The teenager tended to be all over the place and he moved too quickly for his own good. So getting a good glimpse of him was more than helpful.

He ended up being near the football team but a whole lot closer to the cheerleaders. And he was talking to one in particular.

"George! Do you mind telling us who the pretty girl is?" Buddy shouted to George.

George spun around quickly, like he was about to hit someone horribly. That changed the second he saw who was talking. Now he looked like he was ready to spread world peace.

"Buddy! It's been forever, what happened?" George asked as he came over, his lady friend long forgotten.

"College is what's been happening. None of our teachers think we have lives apparently. You have been warned," Buddy said ominously. He have George a hug and immediately pointed to the cheerleader the baseball player talked to moments before.

"Who was she anyways?" my classmate asked as he continued to point at the cheerleader.

"She's Pattie Boyd," George answered, nearly going back into a dreamy state.

"Oh, the girl you've been gawking at," Buddy mused with a smirk.

Once again something snapped George out of his dreamlike state. He scowled at Buddy and turned towards me with the same look.

"You told him?" George asked with disbelief.

I snickered and said, "I'm sure he would have guessed it by the way you were just looking at her.”

He gave a small grunt, rolling his eyes and yet sneaked a look back at the cheerleaders.

"Well boys, I have to get going. You do remember there's a blizzard coming not too soon," Buddy teased.

I gasped and, without wasting a moment, grabbed George and ran out of the school. We said our goodbyes to Buddy before driving as fast as the law would allow.

George and I got out of the car in a blur, ready to get into our warm apartment and drink some hot apple cider or hot chocolate.

But those thoughts were driven from our minds the second we saw John and Ringo in front of our door.

John seemed to be holding an odd ball of fluff covered in blankets while Ringo was noticeably envying that ball of fluff because it was covered up so well.

"What are you guys doing here?" George asked slowly.

"We're hiding from Aunt Mimi! And because I don't want my little Tim here to be utterly annihilated by her glare, I thought it'd be okay if I brought him here. Plus Brian is okay with it," John said all in one breath while petting the fuzz ball lovingly.

"Tim?" I only managed to ask as we stood in the hallway. We might have possibly been blocking the way for anyone else who might have wanted to go through.

"Yeah!" John exclaimed with enthusiasm. "He's a stray, marmalade colored, Persian cat. I found him on the streets today in the snow all alone so I—"

"John, calm down! It's just a cat!" Ringo cut in and pointed to the door, reminding us all why we were here.

I pulled out the key and opened the door to the apartment. Instantly, Tim quietly hissed, clinging to John as if it were life and death.

"Apparently the cat doesn't like your apartment," Ringo joked, but I didn't say anything. Dot decorated basically this whole apartment and it looked nice. But after not talking to her for so long, it was getting harder to defend her.

"I'm sure Tim'll warm up to this place soon," John mused lightly. "You guys have fish, right?"

George snorted. "Sure, we have fish because we always have cats come in here."

"Oh really? Great! I'll try to find it."

As we waited for John to find the fish that would not be there, a light but firm knock came from the door.

"Uh oh," Ringo murmured, keeping his head down along with trying to make himself look smaller than he was.

I gave him a confused glance while walking to the door and opening it. No robber in their right mind would come in this weather.

In came a middle aged woman with a hard look on her face. She said a quick hello, bustling in and slamming the door with a loud bang.

"Hey, you guys lied!" John yelled from the kitchen. His voice then started to get closer. "I'll have you know Tim was just starting to like this place! But no--"

He stopped talking, along with moving, the second he came back into the living room, laying eyes on the woman that just came in. Without a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed Ringo and hid behind him.

“Why are you hiding behind me?” Ringo yelped as he was acting as a shield for the taller person.

“Because you’re not artistically inclined. Plus I’m holding Tim, so it’s only fair.”

The woman’s face only got stiff as she watched the sight unfold. She slowly walked towards the two and then just as calmly got Ringo from John’s grasp, sitting him next to George. He looked almost childlike as he looked down, holding Tim like a teddy bear.

“Why are you here and not at your apartment?” she asked in a soft voice, but I felt that it might get loud any second from possible anger.

John chose to avoid that question. “How did you know me and Ringo would be here, Mimi?”

She gave a small laugh before looking at Ringo for moment.

“You traitor!” John yelled. “What did you do, write a letter saying where we would be?”

“Actually that is exactly what he did.” A glare was shot to Ringo’s direction by no other than John. “But I want to know why it was needed.”

Finally she got to the point so I left before voices were raised, things got more awkward or Ringo got hurt. George, who sat right in front of me, looked a little amused by the fight that was inevitably going to happen.

I went into my bedroom, closing the door so no one could hear the conversation I was going to have with Dot. I pulled out my phone, starting to dial her number when it started buzzing, her face coming onto the screen. This had to be a good sign.

I answered without hesitation.

“Hey Dot,” I breathe into the phone. I heard a little sniffle in return that ended in a light chuckle.

“Hello Paul, I have something to tell you,” she said quietly.

“I have a question first. Why haven’t you called? We were great before New Year’s and now . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to finish what I was going to say.

“That’s why I called,” she whispered, sniffling once again. This time it was louder.

“Are you okay, Dot? Do you have a cold because I can come over and—”

“Paul, I don’t think we should see each other anymore!” she cried.

Umm . . . what? Did I hear her wrong? Maybe I heard her wrong, she might have a cold anyway.

“Say that again?” I asked. I heard a whimper and I almost felt like whimpering myself.

“I can’t Paul, I just can’t. I don’t know what to say other than that.”

A loud bang! came from the living room, with loud hisses coming not too soon after.

“So you brought that cat in because it looked like marmalade? Are you now telling me that if you saw another stray that looked like strawberries you would let that one in too? It might have rabies John! Rabies!” I heard Aunt Mimi shout.

“What was that?” Dot asked shakily. I shook my head, then remembered that she couldn’t see me. I always did this mistake when I was talking to Dot.

I’m definitely going to miss it now.

“It was nothing . . .” I murmured, thinking about what she said. “But why? Why do we have to stop seeing each other?” I was trying to accept it now, but it was hard.

There was a palpable silence that felt like it stretched forever, but she finally answered.

“You would be so nice, that it practically hurt. It was great. But then you would also be so demanding and strict and it ruined the relationship. I couldn’t stand it anymore Paul, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay Dot, I’m the one that should be sorry. And I am.”

Another silence came in, much worse than the other. What ended it now was worse than before.

“Goodbye Paul.”

My eyes widened, not wanting a goodbye but I knew we couldn’t be here forever.

“Goodbye Dot, I’ll miss you.”

I hung up instant, grasping my phone in anger. I threw it at the wall, causing a big dent to show near the door.

Crying into my pillow with inconsolable sadness, I thought over all the good times we had together. But it always ended horribly because I would quickly remember there wouldn’t be a next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for that end but it had to happen! Also, this is actually set before George's birthday chapter so I'll fix that after a while. Comment and vote and I may have a Ringo Pillow to make you feel better. 8)


	9. Happy Birthday Georgie!

I woke up with a huge smile on my face, but that wasn't because it was Saturday . . . that's in a few days. Nope, I was happy because it's my birthday today!

 

I jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom to get ready for the big day.

 

"George! Where are you?" Paul asked from somewhere in the apartment. I think it was the kitchen, but I could never be sure.

 

"I'm getting ready for school! Did you forget that I have that today?" I asked in a teasing manner.

 

Suddenly, a large clutter of pots, pans and all that covered the sound of everything.

 

"I knew Paulie couldn't be trusted in a kitchen," I muttered as I dried myself off with a towel.

 

Picking out a simple black shirt and jeans was too easy, making it all the faster for me to get into the kitchen and see what smelled so good.

 

I was greeted by a very messy kitchen with sugar all over the floor. Paul had a big grin on his face and was pointing to the table like he was on a game show.

 

On the table were tons of pancakes, bacon, eggs, little doughnuts and orange juice. Had it not been for the fact that I was still distracted by the mess, I probably would have been drooling.

 

"What happened in here?" I asked, even though I probably knew the answer.

 

"I forgot that you had school . . . but I didn't forget your birthday!" Paul shouted happily.

 

"So how am I supposed to eat all of this before the bus comes? Or will you be driving me to school?"

 

His face dropped for a moment as he looked around the room. He put on a look of thoughtfulness and dropped that too for an excited look. It was almost like watching Doctor Who come up with a question.

 

"Umm, I don't know. Like you usually do: fast and very sloppy?"

 

"I thought you didn't like me digging in like that," I said slowly.

 

Paul rolled his eyes and started cleaning up with some sort of sugar induced speed. Typical overly clean Paul . . . what would I do without him?

 

Wait, forget I asked that question.

 

I started to stuff my face with the doughnuts first, because me and Paul came up with the agreement. It states that I can do whatever I want on my birthday so long as it's okay. And this is definitely okay.

 

By the time I was just about done with the small balls of goodness, Paul joined me at the table and took a sip of orange juice.

 

"Where did you put all that sugar?" I asked when I finally moved to the bacon.

 

"The garbage, obviously. It took a while but I cleaned it all up," Paul murmured. He raised an eyebrow and then immediately set down his orange juice with a frown on his face.

 

"Don't tell me you wanted it," Paul said in shock.

 

"Okay, I won't tell you then. Pass me the pancakes please," I said with laughter.

 

Paul was just about to pass them when he looked at the time. In the blink of an eye, he dropped the plate, got out of his seat and ran into the living room.

 

"You're going to be late for school!" He shouted as he was still inside the other room.

 

"I just stated eating these pancakes!" I shouted back to him. I crammed a few pieces of bacon in my mouth as I waited for Paul to come back.

 

A crash or two later, Paul came back with an odd smile on his face that I couldn't describe even if I could make up new words. Oh, and he had the keys in his hand too.

 

"You can eat your pancakes in the car. Wait, forget that. Just leave them here, we'll make up for it later," he said quickly. It was almost like he was talking to himself because he kept his head down and kept looking around like he was looking for something else.

 

I thought it was best if I just pulled him out of the apartment and down to the car, which is exactly what I did. He caught on in the end but for the most part he was still murmuring about things.

 

"Are you sure you can drive?" I asked Paul after the fifth time he started talking.

 

"Yeah! There is no way I'm trusting a new driver like you," Paul assured me as he got into the car. "But I might trust you more than John."

 

I chose not to question that last bit, merely getting in the car with him so he could drive me to school.

 

"How did you forget that I have school today? It's a Wednesday!" I said.

 

He bobbed his head to the side in thought then shrugged his shoulders.

 

"I was busy planning stuff, so things were forgotten. But you're going to have a cool birthday party, okay?"

 

"Will there be a lot of presents?"

 

"Wait till you get out of school, then you'll know. Maybe Pattie will remember you today," Paul joked as we pulled up to my school.

 

I rolled my eyes, pulling my backpack out from the back seat. Paul pulled me into a tight hug and I hugged back just as strongly.

 

"See you after school, Georgie," Paul sang in a very childish voice. I opened my door and stepped out giving him a wave goodbye.

 

"Nothing'll stop that, Paulie," I sang back in a silly falsetto. He drove off, probably to go to school or possibly to get the cake. Hopefully it'd be a chocolate cake.

 

I walked to my school, head definitely in the clouds as I walked to the doors and opened it. I probably wouldn't get any work done because I'd be off thinking about what we'd eat before having the cake, but that would be the school's problem. They really can't expect me to be on top when it's my 17th birthday.

 

As I kept thinking about food—which is surprisingly easy—a shadow fell over me. It's not like the person was taller than me, actually he's my exact same height, but I look a bit taller by a hair. He's only more muscular than me, and that's it, just because of stupid football. So I tried to ignore him as best as I could. Sad thing is, he's really good at getting people's attention.

 

"I'd like you to meet a new friend of mine, Geo," Eric said as he slung his arm across my shoulder. I thought I knew who he was talking about—since I saw him kiss that same person in front of the apartment building—so as not to try and strangle him, I went along with it.

 

"Really? Who is it, Eric?" I asked with forced questioning. He then led me the way there, even letting me take a detour to my lockers first so I wouldn't look weird. After that, we went the way there and waited in front of a bunch of lockers.

 

"Why are we waiting in front of your locker?" I asked with now genuine questioning. He shushed me instantly, looking at me as if I grew an extra head.

 

"Okay, it's your birthday Geo, so I'll let this little slip up slide. You didn't hear about the new kid that came to our school?"

 

I shook my head quickly and started looking around instantly for anyone that looked like they might be coming to the wall of lockers we were at.

 

"Well his name is Elvis, Elvis Presley. Cool name, don't you think? So I ended up talking to him after school and I figured out that he's learning the guitar. Just like us!" Eric practically shouted. People looked but the second they saw that it was us, they went back to their conversations.

 

My interest in the new guy heightened. "Seriously? Is he in any of our classes?"

 

Eric and I have all our classes together, which teachers apparently hate with a passion. It might be the fact that we get off topic all the time or that we somehow get good grades when we do nothing. Either way, I'm definitely not a teacher's pet and neither is Eric.

 

"No need to ask me, here he comes now," Eric whispered in excitement as someone came up to us.

 

He looked confused by my presence-I get that a lot, sometimes my awesomeness is just too much-so he totally ignored me. I could tell he was popular wherever he came from before, but it must have been in the 60's.

 

His hair was slicked back and really big at the front. He was also had on a leather jacket, which was really pushing the limits even though we don't have school uniforms. The big thing was that he already looked bored of everyone and he just got here.

 

"Hey, I'm George," I greeted him and held out a hand.

 

Elvis smiled widely now. He took my hand and shook it firmly.

 

"I'm Elvis, but I'm sure Eric here already told you that," said Elvis as he pointed to Eric who was watching everything happen.

 

"Hey! I can keep my mouth shut!" Eric argued.

 

"Sure you can. That's a total lie," Elvis and I said at the same time.

 

Eric rolled his eyes and pushed us in the direction of our science class. Elvis continuously said that he needed to get something from his locker but every time that happened, Eric would start making a random noise until Elvis stopped talking. That probably happened over ten times before we got into the room.

 

Of course our old science teacher, Mr. Jones gave us an odd look but once he saw the new kid it disappeared in an instant. I'd go off and saw how rude that is, but we can be late sometimes. Or most of the time. It just depends on when you care to pay attention.

 

Mr. Jones stood up the second the bell rang, as usual because he was always doing things on the dot. It could be pretty boring sometimes. Or all the time. Again, it just depends on when you really care to pay attention.

 

"For those of you who may not know," he droned in his monotone voice. He looked at Elvis, who was sitting next to me, a bit too long. "I am Mr. Jones, the chemistry teacher. I will start off with the attendance. Now Bueller . . . Bueller . . . Bueller . . ."

 

David snapped his head up after the third time his last name was called, looking around for a second before he saw the teacher. He gave a small grunt before slumping in his seat once again.

 

"Presley . . . Presley . . ."

 

Elvis was a bit more focused than David and so he looked up pretty quickly.

 

"Right here Mr. Jones!" he shouted in a voice that sounded a lot like a teenage girl's.

 

Eric and I both laughed hysterically at that, earning a rather bored look from Mr. Jones. He went through the rest of the attendance list at an even slower pace—which I thought was impossible but he likes to be impossible—and without missing a beat made us read from the textbooks.

 

"What was the girly voice for?" the quarterback asked in a snicker as he pretended to look at the book.

 

"This class is far more dull than the ones I've had back home. I had to do something!" the learning guitarist said back.

 

The rest of class was exactly like that. Actually, the rest of the school day was filed with someone making a joke and everyone else laughing. This had to be the end to an epic birthday at school.

 

But I am very happy to say I was wrong about that.

 

I walked over to my locker with my head back in the clouds like it was in the morning. Maybe John and Ringo would be there, it'd be more fun that way.

 

I opened my locker quickly and shoved all my textbooks and notebooks in there, only taking out the few I needed for my homework. When I closed it, someone was standing right there. Most likely the prettiest girl in school . . . Pattie Boyd.

 

"Umm, hi. What are you doing here?" I stuttered as I slung my backpack on my shoulder. I could feel my face grow red, making me just want to slap myself.

 

"I just wanted to say hi," she said quietly. She moved closer to me, to the point that if I tried to move, she'd be touching me. Like, really touching me.

 

"Oh, okay then!" I cheerfully said, still with a hint of awkwardness.

 

What happened next was unexpected. She practically shoved herself on me then kissed me! Of course she needed to stand on her toes because I'm taller than her by a few inches, but it was awesome.

 

"George! George wake up!" I heard Paul shout.

 

That wasn't right though. Paul didn't go to my school. And even when he did, he'd stay outside and wait in the car like he usually does.

 

I opened my eyes and looked around. Pattie was staring at me, with a different look compared to before. She was glaring at me rather than looking at me as if I was the last man on Earth.

 

"C'mon George, wake up. Your birthday doesn't last forever!" Paul shouted again and this time, I knew exactly where it was coming from. It was Pattie and it might have freaked me out a bit. Maybe a bit too much.

 

. . . . . . . . .

 

"I told you that Paul's yelling could freak someone out," John murmured to my left.

 

"I never disagreed. I didn't think it would be this badly," Ringo murmured back right next to him.

 

"I'm right here you know!" Paul shouted again. I jumped and just about hid under my covers.

 

"You did it again. All you need to do is shove that cake in his face and that'll be a great start to George's birthday!" John joked.

 

My head instantly popped out from under the covers. Did he just say cake?

 

"What kind of flavor?" I asked as I looked at the cake in Paul's hand.

 

"It's vanilla. With whipped cream frosting," Paul said with a whole lot of excitement. I frowned and looked at Paul with a bored look.

 

"But I like chocolate a lot more," I told him with a frustrated look.

 

"You're just saying that," Paul groaned, nearly dropping the cake on the ground. Ringo took it from him just in time, stepping far away from Paul with a serious look.

 

"My Aunt Mimi made this cake . . . for all I know it probably taste like chocolate," John said with a snicker.

 

"I thought she did pretty good last year for my birthday," Ringo argued as he held the cake even farther away from Paul.

 

"You're just saying that because she got you a car."

 

"A car she wouldn't need to get if you hadn't damaged my other one."

 

"You gave me your keys and said I could drive! I think it's all your fault, my no longer trusted assistant."

 

"I swear John, you say that one more time–!"

 

I tuned out the others, choosing to look at a very sneaky Paul who was trying to get the cake back. I chose not to mention the dream to them because I was hoping every moment of it would all be true. I mean, who wouldn't want a birthday like that?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: You will never get a straight answer on how I got this chapter to be made. I may one day say that I was on a sugar rush but the next I'll go off and say I was very bored. It's here though! Comment like you have before, you awesome Beatlemaniacs!


	10. We Can Plan It Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy to finally get to do this! After all that Fanfiction.net hassle, I'm finally getting to this. Well, big thanks to: DoctorLennon007, Macca40, ThisBirdHasFlown, PurlyandGirly and leah9712 on Wattpad plus rockon1973 on AO3 for reviewing!

A huge thud from a random room in the apartment echoed out. Aunt Mimi stopped talking—yelling actually—for a moment, looking around for whatever made that hollow sound.

"It sounds like it came from one of the bedrooms," George muttered, like he was taking to himself almost. He dashed in what I'm guessing is the direction to the bedrooms so I followed him immediately with Mimi and Ringo on my heels.

We found George leaning on a closed door, eyes shut in concentration.

"What's going on?" Ringo whispered only to have George hold a pointer finger up, asking for a moment of silence.

"I think I hear someone crying,” George finally said after such a long stretch of not talking. Though he didn’t say who it was, I’m pretty sure we all knew who it was.

Thankfully Aunt Mimi went back to the living room with the lame excuse of ‘wanting to look after Tim’. More like try to dangle him out the window . . .

George knocked on the door lightly, making the soft crying from the other side of the door stop immediately. He took that as a sign to come in and opened the door with surprising calmness.

If you couldn't guess, it surprised me because calmness isn't what I do.

Paul was curled up in a ball on the corner of his bed farthest away from us, hugging onto a pillow for dear life.

"You okay?" I asked him. He didn't move a muscle and for a moment, I thought he was asleep.

Well that would be rude.

"McCartney, what happened in here?" I whispered as I got closer to the bed.

A sob escaped his lips immediately and he turned to the closest person to him, which was Ringo. Of course this shocked him at first but he got over it, giving Paul a firm hug. Paul murmured something into Ringo’s chest, shaking all over.

“What did you say?” George whispered as he stood a bit off from the rest of us. I would have told him that he could go with Aunt Mimi but I knew he wouldn’t want to leave Paul.

“He said that . . . Dot broke up with him,” Ringo said slowly.

“How did you understand that?” I asked.

“I speak mumbling. I actually speak it fluently,” Ringo muttered nonchalantly.

Paul let out another muffled sob and that directed our attention back to the reason we came here in the first place. I’d have to ask Ringo how he knew mumbling later.

“Hey, Paul don’t worry about Dot, it’s nothing—” I tried to say all comforting and all, but Paul cut me off in a heartbeat. Okay, not cool Paul. No one cuts me off.

Paul got out of Ringo’s grasp, whipping around to stare me down in only a matter of seconds. “ _It is something!_ I loved Dot so much but apparently it was too much! She just wants nothing to do with me now . . .”

I opened my mouth to tell him that no, he wasn’t going into things too quick or too much. Whatever. But he sucked in a wobbly breath and started to shake again.

Ringo pulled him into a hug once again, George following his lead and hugging him too. And because I didn’t want to seem weird or anything, I joined in the affectionate hug too. For a while, it was just silent with all of us hugging Paul and Paul slowly calming down.

“Paul, don’t worry. Seriously,” I said and gave him a look that screamed that I didn’t want to be interrupted.

Deep down though, I wanted him to say something so I knew he was okay.

“I’m sure that by two weeks, you’ll forget you even know what she looked like. Or her name even!” I said with a small smile.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll be fine then, you’re a smart guy,” Ringo piped up. Paul looked up with hopeful eyes, letting me see how much he cried. His eyes looked so red that I nearly flinched and I could see that I’m not the only one who wanted to do that.

“Definitely. So, if you could, try to be happier a bit sooner. I kinda want to see if I can bring Pattie,” George whispered a bit too loudly. Ringo and I both laughed at that with Paul managing a chuckle.

Seems like we were already getting progress.

. . . . . . . . .

Okay, I lied. Progress was not made. Not even close. As in, the happiest we got him was on George’s birthday. And that was only when George woke up. After that he spiraled into this weird 180° and ended up just eating ice cream without speaking a word. Yeah, he shared some with us but it still wasn’t good enough. Though the ice cream was pretty good.

So we tried to change his surroundings. Maybe take him back to Starbucks or something, just to get him out of the rut he was in. Don’t ask why we chose Starbucks. I didn’t know where else he liked to go and George wouldn’t help because he was obsessing with Pattie.

“Paul, we’re going to go out today. That alright with you?” I asked him as he was glued to some chick-flick.

He continued to mutter some bitter one-liners at the screen the whole time and it was starting to scare me a little. Note to self, don’t get Paul upset.

“Yeah, sure. Be sure to get me some hot chocolate,” the possibly depressed college student told me with his eyes still on the TV screen.

Ringo and George both gave me looks but I shook them off. They told me Paul might try to not go outside and I may have not listened. The stubborn guy would still have to go out though.

“No, you’re coming with us,” I said bluntly and stood up.

“But I don’t want to! _The Notebook_ hasn’t finished yet,” Paul complained but he still stood up.

He was decked out in lazy clothing from sweatpants to an oversized hoodie with ruined sneakers to match. But I would get him back to the Paul that looked like he was going to see the Queen in no time!

“You can always pause it,” Ringo said as he picked up the remote and did that. Paul’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ and he grudgingly followed us out of his apartment.

The moment we got out of the building, he started to murmur something in a hissy sort of way. I swear it sounded like Harry Potter speaking parselmouth.

“What is it?” George asked as he saw Paul squint and walk a couple steps behind us.

“The sun’s too bright,” Paul whispered, putting his hands up to block the sun.

We all laughed at the sight of this which only made Paul grumpier than he was before. Thankfully he still got in the car, only there was a silence so thick that a samurai sword wouldn’t be able to get through this. But he would only get in if I wouldn’t drive. _That_ , I have to say, hurt me a bit.

When we got to Starbucks, he sat in the car as if he didn’t notice that the car stopped or that the rest of us were getting out.

“Paul? You okay?” I asked him as he continued to stare out the window.

His head snapped up, which showed he wasn’t paying attention. “Hmm?”

I sighed, feeling like something was weighing me down. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been staring into space for a while.”

Paul shook his head, giving a smile that I nearly thought was real. “I’m fine John, let’s just get some hot chocolate and go.”

Ringo shrugged his shoulders and lead the way to the little building with its overpriced drinks.

“I wish this place sold jelly beans,” George said to no one as he went to find a table.

“I don’t think they would. Think of all the non-teenagers that would come because of that,” Ringo said back as he followed, which left Paul and I to order everything for everyone. And guess who was at the counter . . .

“Tadashi, you can’t stay away from us. Should I’ve told you up front that I’m totally irresistible,” I joked as I looked at the menu hanging above.

It looked like he was going to laugh, but the second he opened his mouth, a sneeze came out. Both Paul and I took a step back to step out of the line of fire.

“Sorry, I don’t have a cold,” Tadashi quietly said as he sneezed again. “This usually only happens when I’m near cats or cat hair.”

His eyes landed on Paul instantly, who looked like he took a good bath in cat hair.

“Umm, sorry,” Paul sheepishly said. “I guess I’ve just been around cats a lot for a while.”

Great, now he stole my cat too. If I didn’t try harder to get Paul out of this rut he was in, he might turn into a cat lady and my Tim would be first. There is no way that I would let that happen. To Plan D it is then.

“You better shake that cat hair off before Tadashi blows his brains out then,” I joked as I pulled out my phone quickly. I’m not losing Tim any time soon. “So I’ll have that blueberry scone and a vanilla Frappuccino.”

I went over to the table George and Ringo saved, punching in the numbers to the phone number that I call at least once a day.

“Why do you have your phone out?” George asked as he was munching on one of the many sandwiches that he bought with Ringo.

“We’re going to Plan D guys, I don’t think there’s much else to do,” I said with a small frown. The phone started to dial quietly in my hand.

“Plan D? I thought you said that we wouldn’t go to that unless he wouldn’t go outside for anything,” Ringo gasped. The phone was still dialing.

“Well I don’t want Paul to be the crazy cat lady that everyone’s afraid of. That’s my job and I don’t want it taken away,” I said calmly.

“Okay then, crazy cat lady, what do you need from me?” the voice on the phone said. I don’t remember hearing him pick up, but I laugh anyway at what he said.

“Nothing much, Stu. I need to know if you can get me a dog."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Rather short, yeah, I know. But this was a real bother of a chapter. I didn't know how to bridge what I want in the next chapter with the last one (Chapter 8) so I made this as something to join it. If you didn't notice, the start was a flashback to chapter 8. Comment if you so chose!


	11. The Hills Are Alive With...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, definitely out of it this week. Mostly because Spring Break's over for me and I'm a bit upset but also because I'm about to finish up (practically destroy it and then start from the ground up again) my own story! I don't know if I'll allow it to be sold but whatever. Big thanks to PurlyandGirly, Macca40 and DoctorLennon007 on WattPad along with rockon1973 on AO3 for reviewing! You guys rock!

The hills were as green as mint leaves and covered in dandelions. How spring could reach this part of Massachusetts and not Boston is beyond me but I’ll just go with it.

        The roads were as quiet as going into a library but Ringo’s snoring continued to ruin that. And I’d say the same thing for Paul’s constant questions.

        “What are you doing John? Why wouldn’t you let Ringo drive? Are you trying to send us off a cliff or something?” he continued to ask and ask and ask.

Wow, I need to give George a freaking medal later. How he could keep up with the question maker sitting next to him was one of many things beyond me today. How he lived with him was a whole different ballgame.

“Paul, let this be known that if I was going to drive you guys off a cliff, it would only be in the name of James Bond. As you can see, there are no evil British guys in Jaguars so no, I’m not driving you off a cliff,” I answered back. I heard a huff and I prepared myself for another round of questions.

“I’m blindfolded. Remember, you put this scarf on me. So no, I can’t see any evil British dudes. And you still never said why you wouldn’t let Ringo drive,” Paul murmured as he banged his head on the window in a repetitive fashion.

“Seems like you’re getting your workout in today,” I commented. “Anyways, Ringo doesn’t know where we’re going and I do. I see this as payback for not letting me drive for so long.”

“Can payback be in a more civil next time? I feel like I’m in a blender . . . now I know how fruit feel,” George said. Actually he had to yell it because Ringo’s snores started to get so loud that the radio was like a whisper.

“I don’t know, civil isn’t in my vocabulary. Don’t worry Georgie, there’s only a few more miles to go.”

Finally green hills morphed into turned over ground with scattered animals dotting the area. George particularly liked the piggies that were close to the fences that separated land from road. And those pigs were so close I’m pretty sure I could hear one of them ask if we could take it with them.

The road started to go from smooth to bumpy, gravel that felt very uneven jolted the car around. Paul nearly pulled his blindfold up to see what was happening but George slapped his hand away. Ringo snapped awake after the second jump that came from the awful road.

“What’s happening?” Ringo shouted as he pulled his seatbelt on. “Why are we in a dryer and what did we do to deserve it?”

It seemed like he was clinging onto the strip of cloth for dear life, which made me laugh at him until he started to glare.

“We’re going to that . . . place we needed to go to. Y’know the place that Paul can’t see the path to or he’ll suffer,” I shouted back.

“You never told me that I would _suffer!_ John, I don’t want to come here anymore,” Paul whined like a little child. George started to laugh just as much as I did with Ringo. I’m sure if looks could kill, the one Paul was trying to give George would’ve burned the scarf and George’s face.

“It’s too late, Macca! We’re already here!” I told him in a crazed voice. Actually, that’s my normal voice.

Ringo took the seatbelt off and jumped out of the car only to start kissing the ground. George took a much calmer approach and got out of the car to help Paul out.

“Can I take it off now or will I still suffer?” Paul asked and I could tell there was some genuine fear.

“Umm, yeah. I don’t think they’ll hurt you now,” I murmured.

He took the scarf off his face and looked around. For a moment he was quiet but he started to shake his head, muttering words the whole time.

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t let me see the path to a _farm?_ ” Paul as he kept his head in his hands, pulling off a pretty good facepaulm.

“John! I said it was safe this time,” a very familiar voice said from the side of the barn.

“Hey, I had to be very careful. You’ve got the little present, right?” I asked as I waited for the person to come out of the shadows.

Finally, Stu came out with a notebook and pen in hand. He looked so out of place in the barn with leather cladding evert part of his body except for his face. That’s where he had his sunglasses were covering up a good part of it.

“Yeah, my uncle went out to the city to sell some stuff so he left me in charge for a while. I think he said the dogs are in the back . . .”

The second Stu said that, Paul’s head looked up from the ground. In fact, he looked really excited.

“You never said you brought friends! I know Ringo but I don’t know these two. Now I seem rude . . . Umm, I’m Stuart. But you can call me Stu,” my friend quickly said.

Paul quickly stepped up and I could tell he was anxious to see the dogs they had. “I’m Paul and this is George. Nice to meet you.”

George and Ringo were doubled over with laughter, but I could tell they knew this working so well. I’m happy this plan went well and we didn’t have to do Plan Z.

My fellow artistic friend led us to the back of the barn where the animals that Paul loved so much were.

Stu’s uncle was actually out to the city to get some new dogs. His old dog died and all he had left were a bunch of pups, which aren’t really good at herding sheep apparently. So he was going to sell all the pups, after he gave “Stu” one.

Good thing that uncle wasn’t going to sell to us because it looked like Paul was just about ready to buy them all. And then he would pay with an arm and a leg, just because he’s too nice.

“I think we should leave these love birds alone. It’s making me sick,” Ringo joked. “Where else can we go?”

“Pretty sure there are some pigs we can see. John will feel right at home there,” Stu joked and I gave him a light jab to the side.

George seemed very happy to be getting away, so we left Paul and the little puppies to themselves.

. . . . . . . . .

I was having a blast. After the guys left to go see some pigs, I snuck out with the little dogs to have a comfortable game of catch.

All of them kept tripping over their own feet and I have to admit that I did myself. So instead of running around and continuing to get grass in my mouth, I just sat on the grass and brought all the dogs to me.

The only problem was that all but one dog didn’t listen. They all scampered off in different directions, yipping with some sort of gloating glee.

“No! Don’t go! I have bacon . . .” The last part was a total lie but that just goes to show how much they wanted to go away. The only dog left looked up at me with big eyes and if the situation wasn’t kind of serious, I would have hugged her _so much._

“Looks like we need to round up your friends . . . uhh . . . Martha! Yeah, let’s go get ‘em.”

Martha? Why did I have to pick a name that sounds like a little old lady? I could’ve gone with Sarah or Rose, but _no,_ Martha is much better.

My phone started to buzz in my pocket, distracting me from the adventure I was about to start with Martha. I pulled it out and nearly picked it up when Martha started to growl in a deep, menacing way. If I didn’t see her a few seconds ago, I would’ve thought she was a hunting dog only.

I slowly put the phone back into my pocket and she instantly stopped growling . . . okay? I’d have to see who made her so angry and maybe not go near them ever again just for their safety.

Martha and I started our journey on that note, running around the fields, looking for dogs that looked just like her. The task was made easy when Martha sniffed about the grounds and leading me in the direction she got from the scent.

When we were almost done and my arms practically full with puppies, our secret mission was destroyed. Well it wasn't secret in the first place because I kept yelling and Martha continued to bark. But I didn't want them to know, so secret mission it stays.

"Paul, what are you doing?" John asked. He was covered head to toe in mud and so was Ringo. And as if he was trying to defy logic, George seemed to be dirtier.

"I could've asked you what you did to have that mud all over you but I didn't," I said, trying not to let them know. Martha barked at my side, making them step back a little.

“Okay . . . why are you holding all the pups?” Stuart asked as he flipped through his notebook again. He looked really clean compared to the others, with not even a little smudge of mud.

“Umm, no reason,” I said quickly. This seemed to be a cue for one of the puppies because it quickly came up out of nowhere and tried to stand on my leg.

“Did you lose any of them?”

“No! We’re just playing a good game of hide and seek, but they’re really good at hiding. I found them all though,” I said weakly. I don’t think Stuart bought it even as he was picking up the puppy that was now trying to climb up my leg.

“Alright then . . . how’d you get this one?” Stuart asked, pointing at Martha. At the moment she was chasing after John, who still didn’t put his glasses so he thought Martha was a “small monster”.

“I didn’t. She just stayed by my side the whole time.”

Stuart gave me a weird look but nodded, holding the squirming puppy in his hands a bit closer. Martha came over to my side, apparently bored of freaking John out. John on the other hand was hunched over and panting with Ringo and George laughing at it all. I would have started to laugh with them but one of the puppies started to wriggle around, trying to get out of my grasp.

Not wanting to start that bothering game of hide-n-go-seek again, I walked to the barn with the others at my heels. The second we got inside of it, all of the dogs out of my hands jumped to the ground.

“So, found your favorite one yet?” John asked as he tried to get rid of all the mud on himself.

“Yeah, Martha hasn’t left my side all day,” I told him, kneeling down to scratch behind Martha’s ear.

“Martha? Why not Arrow . . . ?”

“Because she obviously doesn’t have a pointy nose, John,” Ringo muttered as he poked her nose. She made a noise similar to sneezing.

“She’s all yours then,” Stuart said as he set down the puppy he was holding. “Funny though, because she usually isn’t so friendly.”

John glared at her. “I can testify to that! She tried to bite me!”

“Martha only wanted to sniff you but you wouldn’t know that with your vision,” George laughed as he peeled off his muddy hoodie.

“Wait, your giving Martha to me?” I asked, jumping back to the statement before. It still really confused me.

“Yeah, we have too many dogs so why bother—” Stuart nonchalantly murmured but I cut him off with a hug. He was very tense at first but after a few seconds he hugged back.

“Don’t worry about it,” Stu said after answering my unsaid thanks. “I swear if she stayed a day longer, we would’ve given her away anyways.”

I don’t know how that was going to make me feel less grateful, but I smiled as if I understood.

“Can we go now?” Ringo asked like a little kid. “I feel tired and these clothes are rubbing me the wrong way.”

We all laughed, only making Ringo roll his eyes in irritation. Still we went back to the car with John automatically sitting in the driver’s seat. Ringo surprisingly didn’t care and slumped into the passenger’s seat. In seconds he started snoring just as loudly as when we were getting to this barn. Maybe a little louder.

“See you later, Stu!” John called out, yelling over the car and Ringo.

“Just make sure not to lock me out this time!” Stu shouted back but sounded much calmer than John. That obviously isn’t hard.

John snickered lightly and pulled out, driving way too fast for a bumpy road. Martha jumped onto my lap, knocking out whatever breath I just got. She continued to whimper and paw at my stomach, making me scared she’d think of actually start clawing soon.

“Hey, John. Do you think you can slow down a bit?” I asked when I saw that the city lights were coming back too quickly.

“Remember, he doesn’t have civil in his dictionary. So we can just take it as a no,” George grumbled. He pet Martha slowly and I could tell she calmed down some.

“Hey, this is a faster way! We’re practically at your apartment place right now. I don’t know if Eppy will be there yet,” John argued with a laugh.

“How fast are we going?” George and I asked at the same time. That only made John laugh even more, making his already scary driving scarier. He never answered our question and continued to go.

I swear, when I find the policemen that let John get away with this, I’m going to kill them.

Even before the car got to a full stop in front of the apartment building, Martha tried gnawing at my seat belt to get the both of us out. Of course it didn’t work but she seemed to think this was life and death. It probably was and I just didn’t notice.

“The car’s in one piece! Take that, Ringo,” John shouted gleefully. Ringo stopped snoring a while back and we took that as I good sign. That is until John’s driving got worse.

Ringo didn’t move an inch.

John frowned and poked his nose as if that was going to wake him up. Still he wouldn’t budge. Silence took hold of the small car, with even Martha keeping quiet.

Moving slower than I could’ve gone, John leaned his head near Ringo. When he moved away, his whole body was shaking terribly.

“Guys, Ringo’s barely breathing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Pretty sure you guys aren't liking the fact that I keep throwing stuff at you. Well, I'm creating this thing called a plot that I didn't have with the first few chapters . . . so that's all I can say. Review if you aren't mad with me. ;) Maybe I should've said if you are . . .


	12. The Longest Drive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was long overdue. Maybe a week or something . . . but this is overdue in all honesty. This is also my longest chapter ( I thing so), maybe that evens things out? No? Alright I'll get to it! Huge thanks to Macca40, PurlyandGirly, DoctorLennon007 (both AO3 and Wattpad), ThisBirdHasFlown and anakinbridger541. You guys take news surprisingly well . . .

This was probably the quietest drive that has ever come up in my life. And once Mimi found out that I actually got something higher than a C in school. So this was very, _very_ important. Or nerve-wracking.

Well, you can see I didn’t get higher than a C in English . . .

I kept looking over at Ringo, whose face was practically shining with sweat. A faint cough came from his lips and he lolled his head to the side. He then shivered, curling in on himself like a roly-poly.

Bad connection to a very sick friend but it works, right?

Paul leaned over my shoulder—since he was sitting right behind me—and looked over at Ringo. Not too soon after, George’s head was next to his.

“He doesn’t look too hot,” George murmured. Paul nodded his head with worry written all over his face.

“Yeah, he looks like he was just in Alaska. But he’s sweating,” Paul whispered. I waved them back so that they sat in their seats again. They were still in their hushes little conversation that was bothering me but I let it go. Who knows what they’d do if they weren’t distracted by talking right now.

Right now the road is my distraction. Paul and George’s apartment couldn’t feel more far away from the hospital, being about a good 9 or more miles away. And because I didn’t want any other people needing to get medical attention, I wore the glasses that I hate so much.

A stop at the red light ended all noise in the car. Ringo's cough came back in the middle of it, being much more raspy than the last time. I could see Paul's face in the mirror as he gave Ringo a worried look and then looked out the window. The overall mood was tense and I hated it. Good thing the hospital wasn't too far away from where we were.

The light turned green and I drove quickly, trying to close the gap between us and the hospital. It felt like we couldn't get there fast enough, with Ringo’s coughs getting more dry and consistent.

"We're here," George commented into the short silence between Ringo's coughs.

It didn't need to be said, if this was a normal hospital. And it wasn't. It looked like a really big castle but with no towers or drawbridge. Just a really big building that looked like a really old castle.

I stopped the car in one of the parking spaces closest to the entrance, instantly carrying Ringo bridal style because he clearly couldn't walk, even with help.

Paul stopped when we were right in front of the door, fear and flushed skin very present. If he was sick too, I think I’d lose it. First, I only have two hands and second, I don’t want anyone else to be as sick as Ringo is now.

“Paul, are you okay? We still need to go inside to help Ringo,” I asked and stopped for a moment. George stopped too but he seemed like he'd much rather run in and start screaming about his friend.

"No . . . nothing's wrong. I was just looking for Martha," Paul said in a shaky voice. Martha came up behind him right after he said that, barking ever so lightly.

I didn’t believe that excuse for a second but I went along with it anyways so we could go.

"Do you think they'll let Martha in? They'll see her as a walking germ and saliva ball all wrapped up in fur," I murmured as I matched his pace, George already at the desk.

"I think they'll be more worried about the person that's limp and barely breathing in your arms compared to Martha," Paul replied quietly.

He was right. The second we got George to stop yelling at the poor lady at the desk--which took a lot of effort and she might have deserved it--they took Ringo from my arms and we were forced to sit in the waiting room.

I hated this room. This was the room that life and death could be pronounced not to far apart from each other. Something that could cause cheer could be happening right here, waiting to spark. Another thing that could cause wailing was also waiting, lurking in the shadows.  I didn't want the latter to be told to me. Ever.

We probably were the oddest sight in the waiting room, with mud covering George and I everywhere and a dog trying to lick Paul. Every so often, a woman kept turning around to look at us, black hair swishing every so often. I gave her a cold glare and she stopped turning immediately. Paul frowned lightly at it but didn't say a word.

A doctor came in and for a moment, I thought it was for us. Instead she went to the woman that I glared at before. I didn't need George's ears to hear what was said.

"Ma'am, I'm so sorry but the treatment didn't work. Your son has only about an hour left to live," the white-clad lady said. Her own voice shook even though this wasn't her kid.

The woman sat there in shock, shaking her head with tears slowly forming in her eyes. After a few more moments of having this information sink in, she nodded and her face was wet and red. But not a single tear was left in her eyes.

"Would you like to see Mason now?" the doctor asked in a small voice.

"Later, I just need to take in this information first. I'll be in 108 soon," the woman said in a soft voice. The doctor left, leaving her to take in the information.

I got up, wanting to say sorry because the guilty was eating me alive.

"Hey, I . . . didn't mean anything with that glare. It's just that my friend's really sick and I'm not sure--" I started to ramble out my apology but she hushed me quickly.

"It's okay. I understand what you're going through. Just don't doubt the situation, okay?"

I nodded, taking her advice to heart and quietly whispered that I hope she'd feel better soon. She smiled a bit, thanking me for everything and stood up to go to her son's room.

I didn't get how she could be so nice, still thinking about it even as I sat down in the uncomfortable chair again. George looked over at me for a second with a questioning look, only to turn away and start jiggling his thigh. Paul on the other hand was struck in a trance.

"Paul, are you okay? You've been pretty quiet," I whispered to him. He didn't say a word, instead looking at the doctor that was coming in.

The man gave us a funny look—most likely about the mud all over me and George—but flipped through the file in his hand anyways.

“Family and/or friends of Richard Starkey?” the old doctor asked. George and Paul sat there for a moment, utterly confused on who Richard was but I stood up immediately.

“What happened?” I questioned, stepping toward the man. He didn’t even bother to look up at me, still just flipping through the pages.

“There’s nothing to worry about, though your friend does have a high fever and has been walking around with pharyngitis and tonsillitis. Follow me.”

Paul was the first to go, stony faced and all with Martha slowly following behind. There was an air of coldness and something else I couldn’t describe around him. It was worse than the whole Dot problem, that’s all I knew.

“Do you think there’s something wrong with Paul?” George asked when he came to my side.

“Thank you! I was starting to think I was just thinking stuff up. Do you know what’s up?” I asked in return.

He shook his head, looking at the pristine walls instead of me.

“I don’t know. I guess Dot came back to his head or something.”

“Then Plan Z shall be in order,” I mused quietly.

George looked at me for a moment then burst out in laughter, hunched over and gasping for breath.

“We are not letting Paul play zombie slaying video games. I already feel sorry for those poor zombies. I think making him do Plan W would be better.”

I took my turn at laughing, the thought of Paul writing in a diary coming to my head.

“He’d probably destroy the diary with a single glance. I doubt he’d actually write a word in it.”

The doctor opened the door of room 117, walking in with the file practically glued to his face. We followed him in, preparing ourselves for the worst and instead getting the total opposite.

Ringo was full out pouting. The jutted out lip, crossed arms, childish expression and everything. The nurse that was next to him kept trying to coax him into eating some hospital food but he continued to inch away until he was nearly off the bed.

“I see you’re doing just fine here, Ritchie,” I joked as I moved to Ringo’s side. He glared at me and turned to the nurse with the same look.

“I told you Freda, I’m not hungry,” Ringo murmured hoarsely, wincing as he held his head and throat.

“You need to eat if you want to feel better,” Freda, the nurse, said softly.

Ringo didn’t budge. She sighed, giving up and taking the tray out of the room with her.

“Has your friend been having trouble eating lately? Or sudden weight loss of any kind?" the doctor asked us as we continued to smile at Ringo. He looked dazed and weak but he was much better than the limp form we came in with.

"Well . . . he does look a bit slimmer than usual but we haven't put him on a scale. Ringo hasn't been eating that much too. He keeps blaming it on the headache," I told the doctor.

"Who is Ringo?" the doctor asked. I waved him off and pulled out my phone.

"I'm going out for a minute to call a friend, okay?" I directed to George. Paul gravitated over to Ringo's side, giving the doctor an unhappy glance.

George nodded and I walked out of the room, phone already in hand. Aunt Mimi called me once, but I'm sure it didn't mean anything so I continued to scroll through my contacts list.

There he is.

"Hey, Moony. Have you noticed anything up with Ringo?" I asked into the phone. I thought I heard a muffled boom, but my ears could be playing games.

"Yeah! In class he'd go into these _huge_ coughing fit and he wouldn't go off to eat anything because he says he's sick or something. What's the problem?" Keith said in a breath.

"Ringo's got a high fever and all. Do you think you can come over?"

The thud and immediate drop of the call told me he was on his way. Good. Ringo needed to be upbeat so he could get better sooner.

I put the phone back in my pocket, looking around at where I was. Apparently walking a long distance while talking is what I do best because I had no idea where I was.

After a look at all the room numbers around me, I noticed that room 108 was to my immediate right. Hopefully she wouldn’t mind . . .

Slowly opening the door, I looked inside, hoping for a scene pretty close to what happened with Ringo.

“Mommy! Where are my crayons?” a small voice asked.

“They’re in my bag, at least I think so,” a familiar voice replied. Clearing my throat a little, they jumped and looked over in my direction.

“Hi! I’m Mason, who are you?” the kid with dark hair asked with a smile. Apparently he was missing one of his front teeth.

“I’m John, nice to meet you, bud. How are you feeling?”

“Awesome and tired! But I need my green crayon . . . can you help me?” I nodded, helping off his bed as carefully as I could with the IV in his arm.

As he was moving around—with his IV bag thing of course—I went over to his mom, who had a big smile on her face.

“They were wrong,” she said. “The doctors said he had an hour left to live and it’s been over an hour.” She wouldn’t stop smiling at Mason, her face practically glowing from her happiness.

“What did he have to make them say that?”

“Well,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Mason has leukemia and it’s been bad for a while. This episode was a lot worse than the last because he was so sick and weak. But he’s getting better now.”

Again, she started smiling from her extremely good fortune. Mason walked over, tapping my knee rapidly with a childish frown.

“You didn’t help me find my green crayon! I had to find it all by myself. Not cool,” Mason complained, pointing the crayon tip at me with as much sass as Paul.

“Well, you found the crayon on your own. That, my friend, is a true life lesson,” I pointed out. He looked at me, confusion written all over his face, when my phone rang.

“I’ll be back,” I told Mason in my best Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonation. As I ruffled his hair, I answered the phone and excused myself from the room.

“Hey Moony!”

“Who on Earth is Moony?” a familiar voice asked. Dang it . . .

“Sorry Mimi, I thought you were someone else. What did you want to say?” I probed as I walked in what I thought right way back to Ringo’s room.

“Where are you, John?” Mimi asked, probably avoiding my question.

“In the hospital. Don’t worry, we’re all fine.”

She sighed, leaving us with a somewhat peaceful silence. A doctor ran past me, yelling something about some lady being in a dangerous condition. I couldn’t catch the name though.

“John, this is about your mother. I think—”

“Oh, how is she! You think I can come over some time to see how she’s doing?”

A cough—that sounded a bit like a small sob—came through to my side.

“That’s just it. Your mom, my Julia, she’s gone.”

Immediate blankness came to me. Like they always say you get when you have bad news given to you, only this time, I felt like I had it worse.

“No, you can’t be right. How do you know anyways?” I asked scathingly.

“I was in your apartment, trying to clean everything. That’s when your friend Keith got a call to go somewhere, I don’t know where. But I came down a while after he did only to hear a . . . crash,” Mimi said but abruptly ended at the scarier part.

“You can’t be right! You just can’t be! My mom couldn’t have died in a car crash!” I screamed into the phone.

“John, calm down. Please—”

“I will _not_ calm down! You can’t make me!” I threw my phone at the wall, heaving angry breaths. I was glaring daggers at the accursed electronic when a hand came to pick it up, looking it over.

Said hand tapped the phone and the body connected to the hand walked over.

“Are you okay?” Paul asked in a small voice. He seemed much more . . . human now than before. It infuriated me. I wanted to punch a wall because of that.

“No, I’m not okay. If you want to know, _Paul McCharmly,_ my mom just died in a car crash. I don’t know how anyone is supposed to feel _okay_ after that happens,” I growled with sarcasm and anger dripping from my mouth.

“I’m so sorry, John. I understand—”

“You don’t! You can’t compare a dying pet to a mother! Just leave me alone, alright?”

Paul’s stony face returned but his face was red, with a rigid posture to fit it.

“So I don’t know?” Paul asked in a quiet voice. “So you’re saying having your mom die in a hospital and _not knowing why_ doesn’t compare to this? Why do you think I live as far as possible from a hospital? I don’t want anyone that I love to die in one of these places. That’s why I hated and still hate being here.”

I sucked in a breath, looking at Paul again. He was shaking, my phone threatening to slip out of his grasp.

“I guess it’s a good thing I have an indestructible Nokia,” I murmured, trying to defuse the tension.

Paul let out a small laugh as tears streamed down his face. I went over to hug him and he embraced me as tight as he could.

We ended up on the floor, just sitting there and comforting each other. A tear never left my eye but it felt like Paul was crying for the both of us. It’s not because I’m heartless or anything.

It’s only because I don’t really want her to leave me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't get the one character that I brought in, well, you live in a better world than I do. Just saying . . . Anyways, the next chapter will be much more happy. I'll make sure of it. 8)


	13. Broken Phones and Decapitated Candy

We were all sitting in Ringo and John’s apartment, watching over Ringo. Actually, there were a lot more people that lived in the place, but I’m not sure I know the actual amount.

The main task was to make sure he wouldn’t strain himself in anyway. Believe it or not, Ringo was a pretty stubborn person.

“No! I can get my own water!” Ringo growled at Keith, who was trying to make him sit back down on the couch.

“Sure you can. The doctor said no, so I say no. You know much I like to listen to the officials,” Keith growled back as he pinned Ringo down in an uncomfortable looking way.

"When have you ever listened to anyone but yourself?" Stuart asked from his stool behind the canvas. He was practically covered in red paint, which could give a bad impression to anyone who walks in.

"Never really. But I felt now would be a good time to start," Keith answered happily.

George, apparently bored of this random fight, went into the kitchen and soon came back with bottled water. Ringo accepted it with a grumpy look on his face, giving George a small thanks anyways.

"Why did the doctor say you had to rest even though your throat is the problem?" John asked as he moved over to Stuart's painting. I couldn't tell if he was squinting because he was really looking at the painting closely or because he didn't have his glasses on.

"Because rest allows the body to heal faster since you're not straining it on anything else," I said quietly after no one seemed to know the answer.

I pet the top of Martha's head as gently as I could. Martha instantly jumped into my lap, curling up and fitting nicely, since she was a puppy. After a few minutes of petting her head and holding her, small laughter came up. It quickly got loud, to the point where Martha was whimpering.

"Hey! You’re upsetting Martha!" I yelled as I hugged her tight.

The laughing only ceased for a moment—getting Martha to look up a moment—only to get much louder than it was before. Stuart fell off his stool, not noticing the new yellow paint on himself as he continued to laugh. Even though Ringo was laughing, even though a cough would escape his lips every so often.

“You two are so cute!” John gushed between fits of laughter.

I frowned and looked away, muttering silently, “You cannot be serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious? Of course I’m serious about this! You’ll get so famous on Twitter or whatever that you’ll break the internet! Kim Kardashian has nothing on you,” John thundered while pulling out his phone.

“She’s gross, I hope she has nothing on me,” I said while trying to hide behind Martha so John couldn’t get a good picture.

“At least take a selfie or a picture, so John doesn’t start throwing a tantrum,” Stuart said as he finally got back up on his stool.

“I do not throw tantrums, Stu!” John whined and flopped onto the spot next to me. To prove his point, he crossed his arms and pouted irritably at Stuart.

Yeah, definitely proving his point.

“So are you going to take the picture or not?” Ringo asked. He promptly shoved Keith off of him, giving Ringo a great a chance to finally breathe and move.

“No, Paul here said that his iPhone doesn’t work anymore,” George said, his voice sounding a bit distant.

“Where are you?” Ringo asked the exact same time Keith perked up and looked at me.

“In the kitchen. Do you guys happen to have any jelly babies?” George, peaking his head into the room, questioned with one of his very serious looks. Once again, he was getting serious about _food._

If there was an actual thing like having a lawyer for food, he would be number one all the way.

“Yeah, I think we do . . . Anyways, Paul apparently has a broken phone? I can totally fix that!” Keith shouted as he jumped over to me and held out his hand. For a moment, I sat there with confusion written all over my face until he groaned in annoyance.

“Give me thy phone!” he shouted once again. But he simply didn’t wait this time and took it out of my pocket.

“You shouldn’t have done that. He’ll destroy your phone quicker than you can say Geronimo,” John muttered as he was continuing his pouting, even though Stuart couldn’t see him.

“I would not! I’m not in the mood to break anything. Besides, I haven’t even gotten my cherry bombs yet,” Keith dismissed lightly, hunched over my phone with concentration.

Cherry bombs? Oh great . . . I’ve entrusted my very expensive IPhone 6 with a possible arsonist. Why doesn’t the universe just bring a psychopath my way? Nah, that’s probably John in some way . . .

He opened the back of my phone, looking at it with scrutiny over every little thing that might have been on it. I merely pet Martha again so it didn’t seem like I didn’t trust him. At one point, when he basically had the phone in random pieces on the coffee table, he looked up as I was ‘not staring at him’.

“If you’re going to freak out over me fixing your phone, at least act like you’re not freaking out.”

I let out a nervous laugh, Martha liking my face as I did so.

The next part of the fixing really scared me out. Well, at least not the first step. He started to line up all the pieces, looking at them a few times over or moving them in another spot in the line. Once he was satisfied, his hands then turned into blurs, moving in order of the line. Not even a good three minutes later, he was turning on the fully assembled phone.

“I told you I can fix stuff. I’m in all of Ritchie’s engineering classes, so I know what I’m doing,” Keith said happily.

“Don’t remind me,” Ringo groaned, the total opposite of Keith. He put his head in his hands and groaned miserably.

“Hey, I helped you on that test last week; you should be thankful! And I’m bringing you all the work you’re going to miss for the next week, so you should be double thankful!” he retorted, looking over the IPhone one last time. Suddenly, it started to buzz nonstop. It was buzzing for so long that Keith threw it into my hands.

“How long has your phone been broken exactly?” Keith asked as the phone continued to buzz, showing no sign of stopping.

“Hasn’t it been broken since George’s birthday? Like, late February,” John said but pretended to ask it. I was thankful he didn’t bring up any _certain name,_ I was tired of being upset for so long.

 _“February?_ No wonder,” Keith breathed. He got up slowly, mumbling something about helping George find the jelly babies before he ate everything else.

Good decision.

“So who’s been texting you to make you such a busy guy?” Stuart questioned as he put his paint brush away.

I turned on my phone, only to hear Martha growl menacingly. Her lips were curled back into an evil sneer and she continued to bark until I turned it off again.

“First, your dog is very possessive. Second, why didn’t you guys tell me I had this much paint on me? I could have changed,” the paint coated guy moaned as he pulled at the bottom of his shorts with a bothered look on his face.

“I would have told you,” John said lightly. “But you were too busy saying that I throw tantrums. So, this is basically your fault.”

Stuart studied John for a moment, who was looking pretty smug over what he just said. Stuart tilted his head a little to the side and shrugged.

“To hell with it . . . _DIE!”_ he yelled and pounced on John like Tim would with fish. After John got over the initial shock of being tackled by his friend, the small brawl began. Let’s just say it looked quite similar to a cat fight thanks to John’s rather wimpy punches back.

Not wanting to get anywhere near that—since it was obvious no one would get hurt—I pulled out my phone again. Martha started up her deep growl but I didn’t pay too much attention to it. I continued to scroll through my phone, looking at all the missed calls that I got and I found a certain name in particular amongst all the others.

Martha, being more angry than usual, grabbed the IPhone from my hands by her teeth and jumped off the couch, trotting off to a different location.

“Did you piss off your girlfriend already? It’s only been a few weeks,” Stuart joked. Their ‘cat fight’ seemed just about done since Stuart was comfortably sitting on top of John, who kept murmuring about something being unfair.

“No, I didn’t bother Martha. But . . . Dot called at one point.”

John stopped his murmuring and looked up. Some sort of feeling was in his eyes and I’m pretty sure it was fear.

“Did you just say Dot?” John asked with a shaky voice.

I nodded and he sighed quietly. What was he trying to say? There was no answer to that since a loud cry of shock filled the apartment.

“No! Don’t you _dare!_ I just fixed this thing and there is no way I’m going to fix any sort of water damage!” Keith yelled, running through this room and into the bathroom. “I said drop it, you evil dog! What is your problem against phones?”

Ringo snickered, walking over to the bathroom, saying, “She doesn’t have a problem with the phone. It’s the girl trying to talk to Paulie she has a problem with.”

I didn’t tell off Ringo for saying that and continued to look at John. He was trying horribly to avoid my gaze but it’s hard to do that when someone is sitting on your back.

“John . . . ? What are you not telling me?” I asked John. He made a rather disgruntled sound and fidgeted around.

“Stu, can you please get off?” John asked irritably. Stu sighed, stretching slowly before he got up. If I said I didn’t hear bones crack in relief, I think I’d be lying.

“So, are you going to tell me?”

John took his turn and sighed, looking around quickly. George peaked his head out of the kitchen to see what all the commotion was about, jelly baby heads poking out of his mouth. Not a pretty sight . . . for jelly babies at least.

“I called Dot and asked her to talk to you so you can get over her. Your phone is being a butt and won’t let you answer calls which, was the problem so we just told her that was enough and she was okay with it. So, who wants to go on a vacation?” John asked, not even sparing a breath.


	14. Wakes Me Up When School Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Y'know, it's been almost two week . . . I blame FIFA . . . and I have good reason to blame them because this totally would have been up yesterday. First, my brother started playing FIFA and at first I honestly didn't care because he usually starts yelling at the TV. But then he started playing with Liverpool . . . then Chelsea . . . then Barcelona. And after 10 minutes I was like "Oscar shoot it! Go(forty o's later)oal!" So, I obviously have a football addiction. Anyways, after that football ramble I'd like to thank Macca40, PurlyandGirly, ThisBirdHasFlown, anakinbridger541 on Wattpad and MaccaandGeorgie on AO3!

“Please Buddy, please? Georgie—”

“Are you just using George to get whatever you want when he’s not around?”

“No. You just like him more.”

Buddy sighed and looked away from me. Even without looking at him, I could tell that he was rolling his eyes.

“What did you ask me again?” Buddy asked after sighing quietly.

“I asked if you wanted to go to Carson Beach with us. We’ll have a little picnic there and we could play some sports like volleyball or something. We’ll probably be going around mid-June,” I told him with excitement running through me.

“Carson Beach? Are you—?”

“Yes, I know about it! It isn’t dirty . . . anymore! I’ve read up on it. So the only beaches you should be worried about are the ones near Lake Michigan!”

“I think you should be worrying about that class we need to teach instead. Thirty six year olds in one room all asking questions or having snot drip down their nose or hyper from God knows what . . . this’ll be fun. You have the guitar?” Buddy asked, looking around crazily for the thing.

He was looking in the wrong place though, so it was really funny to see him act like Martha trying to chase her tail.

“I brought it to the class yesterday. See? I can be very prepared.”

Buddy didn’t say anything else after that but continued to walk with me down the hall to the class we were assigned to teach. Ours was a bit farther down from the rest so we were the only college kids walking down the elementary school. That definitely gave us some odd looks.

The odd looks—and random children—all diminished when we got to the class. I couldn’t hear anything, but that could be because the wooden door was pretty thick.

Slowly opening the door, a child instantly ran to my feet. I remember the loss of sensation in my feet anywhere . . .

“Hey, isn’t that the little guy who wouldn’t let go of you on New Year’s Eve?” Buddy, laughing at the scene, questioned.

Mason scowled, pouting and grasping onto my leg all the more while he looked at Buddy.

“I’m not little! I’m in _first grade!_ Kindergarteners are little,” Mason corrected. It only made Buddy laugh even more, opening the door all the way and seeing the other ‘little kids’.

The teacher that was there instantly jumped up, looking at us like we were some sort of hero saving us from something. When she started talking, that’s when I knew it was true.

“Thank goodness you’re here! I almost thought you wouldn’t come,” the teacher sighed as she picked up her things. “Mr. Robinson said that you guys would be doing this until the end of the day so good luck.”

The she practically ran out and we could even hear her screaming that she was finally free. Okay, definitely a little scared of these guys.

First job on the list was rounding them up to the rug.

“Hey guys we need to go over to the rug now!” Buddy shouted over the noise.

No one paid attention to him in the slightest.

“Guys, I think you could get a sticker right now if you went to the rug! Like now!”

Again, they continued playing with Legos and running around.

“Who wants to see Paul play guitar? If you get over to the rug now, he will!”

They instantly stopped moving, all looking at each other as if they needed to get conformation on if what they heard was true. After they got that yes from their child telepathy, every single one of them went to the carpet immediately.

“Are you serious, Buddy?” I hissed angrily as they looked up at us with hopeful eyes. “I don’t even know what to play! And what am I going to sing?”

He shrugged, looking around the room for the cruddy case I put my Fender Squire in. Buddy pulled a few overdramatic near falls as he continued to look, giving the kids a bit of entertainment so they wouldn’t start running around again.

“Found it! Now kids, what’s your favorite song?”

One girl instantly shot up her hand, looking like she knew her answer was the best. Please be Chuck Berry . . . Please be Chuck Berry . . . Please be—

“What about this Justin Bieber song—?”

“No!” Buddy instantly shouted. “Your suggestions are now invalid because of that disgrace to the human race. C’mon Paul, play something . . . anything but that.”

Instantly the kids laughed as Buddy shivered in disgust and obviously the little girl who suggested Bieber wasn’t too happy. I slung the guitar strap onto me and started to play a bit through the strings to see if it was still tuned. Yup, still perfect.

“Hey, you’re playing the guitar just like—”

“Kid, if you bring up Beaver one more time, I will honestly cry. Or go insane. Maybe both . . .” Buddy moaned.

Starting into the opening of “I’m A Believer”, he instantly cracked a smile. We planned singing the whole lesson to them maybe a day ago—yeah, very good planning on our part. I read an article that said kids learn better if they’re taught by music and we’re both really good at music, so why not?

“I thought math was only for the grown-ups,” Holly started out. “Meant for someone else but not for me. Adding was out to get me, that’s the way it seemed.

“Mathematics haunted all my dreams . . . but then I counted it out and got the answer! Not a trace of doubt in my mind! I know math! Now I’m a believer and I can’t forget this if I tried.”

We continued to sing that song over and over and over again until they slightly got bored of it. And like when I first met some of them, they were singing some of the same lines on repeat.

“Hey, wasn’t that song from Shrek, Mr. Holly?” a little boy asked.

“No, it was from The Monkees,” ‘Mr. Holly’ answered as he tickled the same girl that was talking about Bieber.

“There are singing monkeys? Cool!”

“No! It’s by a band _called_ The Monkees. Y’know, M.o.n.k.e.e.s,” Buddy said slowly, spelling it out. The little boy laughed.

“You don’t know how to spell monkey! It’s ey not ee!”

“Children these days . . .”

“Mr. McCartney! Since school’s almost over, they let us do what we want. Can I draw?” Mason asked quietly, touching my guitar lightly. I guess that’s the end of me watching over the possible fight about spelling.

“Yeah, I’ll come watch you draw. But why don’t you go play with the other kids?” I asked as we walked over to a spot in the back of the room. It certainly helped me see if any of the kids were acting crazy.

“It’s because I might get hurt. So I do safe things, like drawing. And it’s fun too!”

“But why do you need to not get hurt?”

He shrugged, looking down at his page, which wasn’t so covered in green like the last time he was drawing.

“It’s because—”

 _“Paul!_ They’re rioting! And I think I heard Mr. Robinson’s loud shoes . . .” Buddy yelled as he tried to stop kids from hurting themselves and . . . Buddy.

“Promise me you won’t try to be a teacher with one of your friends, Mason. Seriously,” I muttered. I got up quickly from the small chair and it practically sighed in relief.

“I won’t. Try not to hurt anyone, Mr. McCartney!”

And with that I went into the fiery pit also known as ‘playtime’. Thank God school was ending in a few more days.

. . . . . . . . .

“I swear if George doesn’t get into this car in five minutes, I will go out there and personally drag him in by his greasy hair,” John growled. He slumped into his seat and flipped through the pages that were in his lap.

“It’s because of Pattie. She’ll be coming too, so you don’t need to worry about greasy hair any longer,” I muttered as I tried to look for him amongst all the other kids.

“Great, I get out of the hospital not even two weeks and I’m already going back because of those two lovebirds,” Ringo said miserably from the back. “Just don’t let her in. He was doing just fine with those jelly babies.”

“Too late. She’s coming and _wow!_ How did George get a girl like her? Wait . . . she has a gap in her teeth. Cynthia’s still better.”

Pattie was wearing yet another one of her scarfs and she was laughing wildly at whatever ‘funny’ thing George just said. Whatever he did to get her away from Eric and into his arms, I kinda wanted to know.

“Move faster! Some of us have to study for a final that we’re going to fail!” John yelled out of the window. He tried honking the horn for extra measure, but I kept slapping him away.

“George! Seriously, talk about prom and getting into someone’s—”

“John, I’m right here. You don’t need to yell,” George sighed as he opened the door for Pattie, climbing in right after her.

“Just calm down, being angry isn’t good for the skin,” Pattie suggested, sandwiched between Ringo and George in the back.

“John doesn’t do angry, he sulks actually,” I corrected, taking a quick turn on a busy road.

“He does a whole lot of pouting too. It’s a sort of order really,” Ringo added lightly. John slumped farther into his seat, rolling his eyes and just staring out the window.

“You don’t need to talk about my skin, I think I’m doing just fine.”       

“She’s going to be a model when she grows up, she’ll be the best out of all of them,” George said with as much mushy, teenage love as I could take. Okay, maybe a little more.      

“Thanks Geo,” Pattie said back with even more of that love. She hugged him as if a reward for that compliment, which quickly turned into cuddling. “That’s why I have to ask, why do you want to go to a barber shop anyway?”

I’d say so, but it’d only create a very boring story and everyone would fall asleep . . . I’ll say it anyway though.

My dad, even though we lived in Chelsea (not the one in England), would always take the whole family every once in a while to Boston to go to this barber shop called University Barber Shop. It would take almost half an hour to get there even though Chelsea had more than enough barber shops. The place looked like it came straight out of one of those old black and white movies, with the little pole on the side too.

Along the way he’d always take a detour to the college that I go to now, Emmanuel College. And he’d always say the same story about how he met mom there, along with saying how he’d want us to go there too so we could probably meet our true love there. Dad always did tell stories that people would wish were true.

“This isn’t just _a_ barber shop, it’s _the_ barber shop. Don’t worry, the people there are friendly,” I reassured her, making one last turn and driving up to the place.

“It looks small,” John said, moving up from his slumping position and getting out of the car.

“It’s a family owned business, the place is just fine,” I said back, totally protecting the place.

The second George and Pattie got out, they kept clinging to each other like it was the end of the world. John and Ringo lingered behind, pretending to puke over the two. With the growing nauseous feeling I was getting, I’m hoping they’ll continue to pretend.

With the little ding of the bell, we all walked in and got everyone that was in there to look at us, even though there weren’t that many people. A silence fell and everyone continued to stare . . . until one of them cracked a smile.

“Paul! Long time no see, yeah?” one of the older barbers asked.

“Definitely, Nino. Think you can give us a haircut like this?” I ask, pulling out a picture of George with his hair matted to his face. It looked a lot like bowl, but . . . swept to the side and nice-looking.

He studied the picture for a moment, looking up at each of us for a moment and then down at the picture again.

“It’ll work, but I’m not too sure about the young lady—”

“No! I don’t want a haircut! They won’t even show it to me, they say it’s a surprise,” Pattie yelped, hiding behind George from all the scissors that might come her way.

Nino laughed the whole while that he was guiding us to the chairs where we would be doing our hair and took Pattie to a separate part of the shop. Probably in the back, where they kept al the gossip magazines.

“If someone comes in with one of those big brooms and starts sweeping all the hair away, I’m going to call your car the TARDIS because this is really old school right now,” John murmured near me. I turned around in my chair to see where he was sitting, but I couldn’t find him.

“That’s odd . . . can’t find John. Where’d you think he’d be?” I asked the others, but apparently I was talking to thin air. They weren’t around either. Maybe Nino needed to talk to them about something that had to be discussed immediately like . . . fringe for all I know.

A pair of scissors started snipping by my head, along with the sound of a blow dryer and what had to be slight chatter.

“Oh, this simply doesn’t do,” a high-pitched and very unfamiliar voice said. “These simply must go! They’re far too long and very shiny.” My hair flopped toward my face and I heard the scissors start snipping again.

“Uh-oh. George, you weren’t supposed to do that! It was supposed to be _away_ from his head!”

“Sorry, but my hand slipped! I’m sure he won’t notice a little off his hair, John.”

“What?” I screamed and jumped off the chair. I ran to the nearest mirror, looking at the ‘little’ bit of my hair that was gone. At the least, it had to be an inch.

Nino came out from whatever he was doing in the back and the second he saw me he started laughing. The evil three standing behind me accompanied him with a weak, awkward chuckle.

“That certainly makes what I have to do easier,” Nino joked as he tried to control himself. I merely glared at everyone, since what I wanted to do would send me to jail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: While I was typing, Hazel (one of my dogs that acts a lot like a cat) starting running across my laptop and this is what she wrote: ;p. I don't know whether to keep a close eye on her or laugh. Anyways, if I don't say anything by Paulie's birthday, you can assume it was all Hazel. Hope you liked it though, and after the birthday chapter for Paul, there'll be a baseball chapter for George so we see how he's doin'. See ya!


	15. Happy Birthday Paulie!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yes! I did it! I feel accomplished . . . Well, let's get on to the important stuff and that is the wonder reviewers who were ready to laugh last time! The award goes to . . . Macca40! PurlyandGirly! ThisBirdHasFlown and MaccaandGeorgie! Accept your award to the right. Now to the main event, Macca's B-day! Enjoy!

        My apartment was filled with barking and loud, random meows. And this was all John’s fault. I think he decided that for my birthday, my gift should be a pet induced headache.

        Since we were going out to the beach, John thought it’d be a good idea for Tim to come and experience the beach. I was sadly thinking about the same thing about Martha.

        “John, he’s a _cat!_ Cats don’t like going outside,” I shouted from my room, putting on the bathing suit Pattie just ‘had’ to get us. After she saw our new haircuts, she instantly started rambling about ideas.

_With the last final snip on Ringo’s hair, Nino called Pattie in to see what we had kept as a surprise. She walked in with her eyes closed—Nino guided her the whole way—and only opened them when she was standing right in front of us._

_“OMG! You guys look like a barber quartet!” Pattie squealed. She brought out her phone in less than a second, snapping pictures of us for Instagram for all we know._

_“Why thank you. I do my best to be an individual,” John sarcastically said mostly to himself. Pattie went on as if she didn’t hear him, now scrolling through her phone._

_“I was thinking, you guys look like people from the Sixties thing on CNN.” Okay, I’m flattered . . . continue. “So I looked at all the weird but cool bathing suits back then and here are these great ones for you guys! It’s of Victorian Edwardian style so it’s basically an onesie with stripes and it’s also got this great hat to go with it. You guys will be matching too!”_

_“Sounds great, Pattie. Are you sure you don’t want to be a fashion designer instead?” George asked with a smirk on his face. He pulled her in for a hug, looking over her shoulder to see what she was looking at on her phone._

_“Yeah, I’m very sure. Plus I found one of these cute ones for girls that I could spice up with one of those lacy parasols and the funny hats—”_

_John stopped her right in the middle of her fashion monologue with a big gasp and wide eyes to match._

_“There’s the big broom! That’s it, Paul’s car is now officially the TARDIS!” John shouted. He started jumping up and down like the fanboy he most likely was on the inside, his moptop shaking all the while._

        “Why do you think I found Tim outside then? If he didn’t like the outside so much, he would have been hiding _inside._ He doesn’t seem to mind it when Mimi takes him out every once in a while,” John shouted back, probably egging on the ‘playing around’ Martha and Tim were doing.

        “You do realize that she doesn’t watch—you know what, forget what I just said,” Ringo mumbled. At least I thought he was mumbling because the stupid swimsuit wouldn’t go past my head, not letting me hear much of anything. Oh wait . . . it has buttons.

        With that sudden revelation, putting that on was much easier. Getting the sunscreen on the way out of my room and putting it in the picnic basket, I was tackled by Martha the second I got the door opened.

        “Martha! I told you not to do that! You probably hurt Tim!” John practically shrieked, running over to pick up the obviously unfazed cat that was sitting on Martha’s back.

        “Hello? Obviously injured person laying on the ground,” I muttered as Martha _still_ wouldn’t get off of my stomach.

        “Well . . . my hands are full with Tim . . . Good luck!” he hurried and slunk out of the room just as quickly.

        The sheepdog proved that she didn’t want to get up for anything. She continuously licked at my face if I even tried to lift my arms to move her, giving me a very wet face and an overly confident Martha.

        A shadow came over the two of us and not to soon after, the sound of humored irritation. Pattie kneeled down, twirling her umbrella—or a parasol, whatever she called that lacy thing—along with laughing the whole while.

        “Do you need help?” she asked between girly fits of laughter. I nodded helplessly, which Martha took as a sign of trying to go away and gave me another slobbery kiss.

        Again, Pattie laughed at the predicament. Trying as hard as she could, she picked Martha up from my stomach, giving me a chance to actually breathe.

        Instead of thanking her, I dramatically scrambled to my feet to make sure that wouldn’t happen again. She instantly came over and started pawing at my legs, ready to start the cycle all over again.

        “Paul! Are you ready yet? I know it’s your birthday and all but I really want to go to the beach,” Buddy moaned, sticking out like a sour thumb since he was the only one in regular swimming trunks.

        “Wait . . . do we have—” I tried to say but Ringo opened the door and started to push me out immediately.

        “We’ll get upset about not having something later, right now you need to calm down because this is your birthday,” Ringo said calmly, leading me on the way out.

        I sighed but listened anyways. If I get sunburn, the blame goes straight to Ringo.

        “We’re going to the TARDIS, the TARDIS, the TARDIS,” John sang quietly. Tim purred in his arms as if in agreement. “We’re going to the TARDIS to get some rays.”

        “John, are you sure you’re okay? You sound a bit off,” George asked warily, shoving the sunglasses on Pattie’s face farther up the bridge of her nose. Apparently, it was some sort of sign of cute mushy teenage love because they looked like they were going to make out in the hallway.

        So gross on so many levels.

        “Of course I’m fine! Never been better!” John argued, moving faster to get to ‘the TARDIS’ and to the beach.

        We filed into the car with no time wasted, making me feel like we left something behind. With Ringo driving the car and I was sitting right next to him, it gave me no chance to ask since he already said once that I couldn’t get ‘upset’ about not having something. It’s not being upset or worried . . . it’s just wanting to have everything where it’s supposed to be.

        “How long is it supposed to take to get there?” Ringo asked quietly, not bothering to pull out his phone as he started the car.

        “About twenty minutes, I think,” I mumbled with a dejected sign. The streets of Boston were looking far more exciting than the inside of the car right now.

        Not too soon after my response, we fell into a rather comfortable silence. I closed my eyes, ready to maybe get a short nap since George woke me up at 8 am.

Until there was giggling. And even more giggling.

“Why did we get stuck with these two? They act like they’ve been on laughing gas . . . What did you do to the Georgie that I know, Paul?” Buddy probed. Those two still continued to giggle their heads off as if they didn’t hear a word Buddy said. They probably didn’t.

 “I sent him to his demise at a driver’s test and brought a stunt double that went through plastic surgery to look like George,” I sarcastically said.

“That’s not the way to do it! It’s always a plane crash, then no one will know,” John lightly thought out loud. Even Pattie and George stopped laughing.

“Are you sure you’re okay, John? You sound a bit like a crazed killer now,” Ringo spoke into the emptiness.

“That hurt . . . well it would if I cared about what the world thought. Can we go out to the beach now?”

Wait, we were already at the beach? Who knew that having awkward conversations and irritating teenage giggling made time fly?

With the unanimous silent agreement of wanting to go outside, everyone pilled out but me.

“Paul, didn’t you hear? We’re at the beach now, you can get out now,” Buddy said, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

“We forgot the picnic basket. It had basically everything,” I whispered as I frantically continued to look for the thing I knew was gone. “Ringo, I think I’ve got a valid reason to get upset.”

Ringo started to walk faster, even pulling Buddy and the rest to make sure no one heard the rest of my worrying. I forgot to bring my wallet too . . .

“Paul! We have this all under control! Just follow us! Calm down for once,” John shouted, leaving Martha and I behind.

I sat in the car for a few more seconds, thinking about how I should have stayed in bed even though George woke me up with a blue doughnut. Maybe, if I had more sleep, I would have remembered all that stuff.

And maybe I would have remembered that I left the window down, letting Martha bark at the random stranger that passed by. I opened the door quickly but not forgetting to put Martha on her leash.

“I’m so sorry about that! I don’t know what came over Martha,” I apologized profusely. The girl laughed, shaking her head and causing her red hair to shake with the movement.

"It's alright, no need to worry," she said sweetly, defusing whatever problems that were hanging in the air. "My name is Jane, what's yours?" After asking, Jane gave me a smile that I felt I remembered somewhere. But it was really fuzzy and distant for me to get a real pinpoint on it.

"I'm Paul. Have we met anywhere because you seem familiar."

She gave a laugh that was the right amount of sweet and sarcasm. It quickly brought a smile to my face and Martha was soon forgotten.

"I don't think so. Not unless you stay up late at night and watch horrible ads."

An eyebrow of mine popped up, her mouth twitched. Finally, a smile got to her lips.

"So you're an actress? Still doesn't add up."

She rolled her eyes and sighed, but it was all for show since that smile still stayed.

"I'm starting my career out here in Boston. Wow Paul, you sure are a man of many questions. Maybe you should become a reporter and use all those questions in an interview."

I stroked my chin—that had not a sign of facial hair—sending her into a fit of laughter.

"I think my first question would be, why are you not in California if you want to start your career?"

"Family stuff. They need me here and all. Especially my mom, don't want to leave her alone with the boys."

Martha strained to move forward, practically acting as if she were attracted to _something_ on the beach. I had no choice but to follow this adorable attention seeking dog, abruptly ending a good conversation.

Lucky for me, Jane followed right behind until she quickly caught up. Must be the birthday magic working for me.

So we continued to walk across the beach, talking about family, friends and what we wanted to be later on in life. All Jane wanted me to do was ask questions. I finally asked—after other questions like what was her what was her favorite fruit—why she continuously wanted me to do that. She laughed softly, almost in a shy sort of way.

“It’s because you look so cute when you try to think up something and then get the courage to say it.”

To say that a blush didn’t come to my face was an understatement. I quickly started to move away so she wouldn’t be able to see it, since it would be pretty awkward to be caught blushing at someone you just met.

“And here I was about to ask you if we can meet up again. I guess I can just be on my way—”

“Hey, wait up!” Jane shouted, a laugh ever present in her voice. “I’d actually want to go sometime.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. Seriously? This nice actress wanted to go out with _me?_ The end of the world must be pretty close if this is happening.

“I’ll give you my number and you’ll give me mine, so maybe we could find a good date. Y’know, to go around your busy life of auditions and all.”

She shook her head, getting out her phone while murmuring something about me having a wild sense of humor. Well, she hasn’t seen John yet so I guess I’ll let it slide.

        Martha started barking out of nowhere, breaking us out of our deep conversation. I turned around to see what the problem was and instead saw it was actually a who rather than a what. A who covered in scratches that had to be from a cat’s claws.

        “There you are! We’ve been looking for you everywhere! Hey, who’s the lucky lady you have there, Macca?” John asked with a smirk on his face. That instantly turned into a frown, probably because of the scratches.

        “She’s Jane, an actress starting out in Boston,” I answered for Jane. The redhead simply smiled and looked down. John waved none the less. “John, there are slushies over by the water fountains, you can get some.”

        “There are? What are we doing here then? Let’s go!” And with that, John pulled Martha and I away from the start of a rather good birthday. At least this great start wouldn’t end in tears.

Hopefully it won’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And there it is! It actually came out longer than I expected since I added to it today and all but it's still weird so that works. The long anticipated baseball chapter will come up and it'll be long-ish (hopefully). But for now, please take the time to review or just post to the whole world that Macca's a year older if you haven't already. Ciao darlings!


	16. Happy (Uber Belated) Birthday Ringsy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm not going to say anything because it's going to turn into a rant . . . I'll just allow you to read this real long chapter. . . like REALLY long . . . So, I'm going to thank ThisBirdHasFlown, anakinbridger541, Macca40 and PurlyandGirly for giving me ideas about this chapter. Especially ThisBirdHasFlown for her extreme love of baseball. Now let's get to it!

For my birthday I got . . . take a guess . . . to go to a baseball game.

Yup, George gets to wake up to cake and then goes out to wherever he wants and Paul gets to go to the beach. What does Ringo get? He gets to watch George play baseball . . . and it's boring!

But that may be because I'm not big on sports.

"I'm not leaving this car," I said to mostly myself. George continued to shuffle around, saying something about not wanting to miss the first pitch.

"But Ritchie," Mo soothingly said into my ear. "We're going out to wherever you want tonight so you won't need to worry."

It's obvious that after that, I got out of the car but shuffled behind the rest so they wouldn't think that I gave up that easy. That didn't even mean anything because they were all focused on something. John on Cyn, Paul on his phone (apparently he met this girl, Jane, on the beach and they hit it off) and Mo was devoting her time to George's hair. George was in his own little world, worrying about baseball and Pattie, since she was apparently sick today.

George stopped short, clutching his baseball bat so tightly that his knuckles were white. "What if I miss everything? I'll be a total laughing stock! And then I won't win the medal, we won't get the shiny trophy plus I'll totally destroy a record that's been going on before I even stepped into middle school!"

Cyn looked over at him with a soft smile, simply hugging him. At first, George was stiff as can be but he calmed down and returned the hug.

"It doesn't matter," Cyn murmured as she pulled back to look into his eyes. He became rigid again , even though he let her continue. "Those medals mean nothing after a while, just useless metal. All that adds up in the end is that you tried, okay?"

George merely nods. A smile ghosts his face and that's the only response we get.

Once we get to the stands, Paul miraculously tore his eyes from his phone, giving George a single look. After a quiet exchange using only their eyes, they moved over to the dugout. That left us to either go over to the food stands or get a spot in the bleachers. And with John being the adventurous and excitable guy that he is, it was obvious what he chose.

As Mo and Cyn went off to save our spots on the bleachers, John and I went the opposite direction to get some hot dogs. He kept murmuring about how baseball hot dogs are the best but I thought he was just overdoing it.

"Yes," John murmured with delight. He clapped his hands in this giddy sort of way that made me slightly scared of him. Oh, who was I kidding, I was always on edge with John around. "We're the first one's here! That means we get the best!"

He ran up to the unsuspecting teen behind the counter. The guy easily looked like he wanted to be anywhere but right there. I felt the exact same way.

"Hey, you awake?" He looked up with a look that asked to be tried. Lucky for him, John was ready to try everyone. "Sweet. So can we have uh . . . five Chicago style hot dogs with the works?"

The teen put on a small smirk. Well, this was going to turn out to be just fine.

"We don't have any pickles," he said, looking John straight in the eye now. Funny thing, I happened to be looking at a big jar of pickles in the corner of this small little hut. Or whatever it's called . . .

John simply shrugged. "That's alright, I'm not a huge fan of pickles." He looked over to the stands which were not too far away and saw that it was starting to fill up pretty quick. "Can we just hurry it up? The first pitch might come soon."

The kid turned around, looking at all the things behind him only to hiss in disappointment over something. He turned back to face us again, shaking his head in what I could tell was fake sadness. "We're all out of onions too."

I thought John was about to lose it. He looked pretty close to it. Instead he just slid a hand across his face, sighed deeply and gave the teen a look that told him he was at his last straw. Knowing John, there was really no such thing.

"Okay, first you're going to tell me your name. Then, you're going to give me my Chicago dogs so I can forever leave your presence and never see you again," John said in a low, hard-edged voice. He was leaned onto the counter, practically mocking the teen with the fact that he was a good head or so taller than him.

He just leaned his head back and gave out a humored laugh. "Or maybe I just won't tell you at all."

John lunged for the poor guy, just about to grab his collar and then do who knows what. Lucky that I caught the raging bull just in time before anything started flying.

"I think that's enough excitement for one day," I say lightly, looking at them both to see if they got the message. It looked like it barely got to them. "We'll just be going now, y'know, watch the game and all."

That seemed to click something together in John's mind, as he instantly slipped out of my grasp to go back to the stands. Along the way, he continued to mutter bitterly about how rude 'the hot dog policeman' was. Yes, he came up with that because he thought "only a policeman would take something away that cruelly". Since he was just moping and all, I didn't try to correct him on anything.

"I thought you guys went to go get a few hot dogs?" Cyn asked, eyebrows raised at a grumpy John.

"We did try to. But this total jerk of a kid wouldn't let me get any," John murmured. He flopped onto the spot next to Cyn, wrapping her into a hug that I think he needed more than her. "And he had this stupid look that made him look like he thought that he was better than me. Him! With that black, greasy hair, I don't think so!"

Paul's head shot up from his phone—making his moptop swish so quickly that it got in his eyes—and he looked at John for a moment before shaking his head with a look that whispered that he probably knew something. To save myself any headache, I decided to keep my mouth shut again.

"It's alright, Johnny," Cyn said into John's chest. Or at least I thought that's what she said. She did have John's chest covering her face and all. "I think we're going out later so you don't need to worry."

That was enough to get the scowl off his face and shut him up. Well, until the pitcher came up to his mound. Then he kept jumping up and down in his seat, excited to see it finally start. The other team—The Roosevelt Ravens—was up to bat first and the guy that was up easily looked like he could squash me flatter than a tin can. He even already has a mustache growing.

Would it be rude to ask how old he was?

"And here's the first pitch," disembodied voice projected from the PA. "This is Mike Thurman, possibly one of the best batters out of all the high schools! I can already see an easy double here, folks!"

Maybe he was the best because his freakishly big arms . . . and the fact that his hands looked like he was trying to break the bat with just a bit more force.

"Good thing the home team has their great pitcher, Alex Meyer. Wonder what kind of ball he'll be throwing today. Usually it's the curve but I don't mind a fast ball or two, that's a nice one for him."

Alex on the other hand was tall and skinny. He looked like the poster boy for all things America because he had this curly blonde hair and a smile to match that was TV all the time when I was a kid. Just looking at him made me nostalgic.

The pitcher moved the ball around in his hand for a little bit, staring at the batter the whole while. In the blink of an eye, Alex let go of the ball, letting it soar through the air until it got into the catcher's mitt with ease. The whole thing probably didn't even last for half a minute.

"Now look at that fast ball ladies and gents! According to the speedometer, that was a great 93 mph. If Mike wants to get at least a hit on these next two, he'll need to get his robot eyes ready."

John laughed, but it was an absent one as his eyes were only for baseball at the moment. I think Cyn should monitor how much he watches this sport from now on. To be on the safe side and all.

The catcher threw it back to the pitcher, the latter kicking the dust a little bit as he looked at the batter under his hat. He pitched again, the ball looking a little less blurred this time and the batter hit it, the back making a nice crack sound.

"Finally a single for Thurman with that 90 mph ball. Already, the away team has surely captured a run for themselves."

Another batter went up and a couple of swings later, it was an out. Thurman, throughout the whole of those swings, kept running until he got to third. I wish I could say I didn't find this entertaining but then I'd be lying.

After a new batter came up, Thurman got the run and the new guy got was tagged out. It didn't take very long for the sides to switch, with the visiting side already having 2 runs to none.

"Hey, isn't that the same guy that took Eric's girl?" one of the teenage girls behind us said. She pointed to George, who was just walking into the dugout. Her voice was one of those irritating, typical ones. Snooty sounding and all.

"Who are you talking about? The guy with the bushy eyebrows?" the girl next to her asked. Paul looked up from his phone—the second time that happened today and it was basically a miracle—to turn around and observe their conversation.

"Yeah, that's him. Can't really remember his name though," the first replied airily.

"His name is George for your information," Paul murmured, bothered look on his face and phone most likely forgotten. He sounded almost as snooty as the girls. "And what do you mean that he stole Eric's girlfriend?"

"You haven't heard," the two asked incredulously. Maybe it was Paul's baby face working in his favor or the fact that teenagers thought that things spread everywhere. Maybe both. "Okay we'll tell you. I think it was like, a week or so after his birthday."

"Hey Georgie," Eric said with a big smile on his face but it didn't totally reach his face. He leaned against the locker that he was next to. "How's the day going so far?"

George laughed, shaking his head as he looked for the books for his next class. "Couldn't you have asked me that at lunch? I mean, it would've saved the both of us a ton of time."

Eric rolled his eyes. "There are more important things in the universe than you, George."

"Are you saying that there's someone else?" George joked, moving a science textbook to the side.

"Maybe . . . I do like Pattie an awful lot."

George blushed into his locker, choosing to stop talking about this particular topic. "I think today's going good. How about you, Eric?"

There was short pause but it felt long and strong enough to create something of a slight tension. "Yeah, I'm doing just fine. When's class gonna start again? Two or three minutes from now?"

"I don't know, I think two. We're supposed to be good role models for Elvis and all. He's a new kid and we don't even remember when the classes start."

"Hey, I think he's doing just fine. Isn't he dating someone already? Maybe she'll help him out with things from now on."

"I don't remember hearing anything about that. It's still nice to watch over him, the school trusted us," George remembered after shutting his locker. "See? Here he is now."

And there he was, walking down the hall towards them in a very confident sort of way. His hair was still slicked back per usual but a hoodie, faded jeans and Adidas sneakers made up the rest of his appearance that day. That and a redhead was on his arm.

"Hi guys, this is Priscilla." George and Eric both waved, Priscilla waving back pretty confidently. "Now . . . isn't class starting in two minutes," Elvis asked, looking at the slowly thinning hallway.

Eric snapped his fingers, smiling at George with an arched brow. "I knew it! Well, that means we need to go to—" He started to snap his fingers again, trying to remember what class the three of them went to.

"History," George and Elvis said at the same time.

"Yeah, that's it! C'mon, now we might actually make it before the bell rings."

The three of them quickly ran in the direction of their history class—Priscilla had Math—when George stopped short. He checked his pockets but he was missing something really important. Maybe checking to see if he had a pencil before running off would have been a good idea.

"Guys, I forgot a pencil. I'll meet up with you in class but I need to go back," George said, still facing his friends but going back to where his locker was.

"Alright, but I'm sure you'll be meeting the Dean before you get to class," Elvis joked as he pointed to the time. They laughed and as Elvis and Eric took off towards the class, George ran back to his locker.

By the time he got the pencil he needed, the bell already rang. George groaned, thinking that Elvis was totally right. He slammed his locker shut and turned around, angry at no one in particular but at the same time, everyone.

He already knew he might get a detention or something like that. The Dean, he felt, was out to get him the second he stepped into the school. It wasn't like he threw toilet paper all over the school, that'd be too old school. Or died everything in his office blue. He heard that was the Dean's favorite color so he wouldn't want to do that and besides, it'd take up a lot of time to do. In all honesty, George didn't really care about school. Scouts were probably putting his name down for one of the kids to watch so he couldn't give a—

"Oh, sorry George," Pattie whispered. George looked down. He didn't remember bumping into her or even seeing her in the first place. "I'm such a klutz."

"Hey, it's alright, I wasn't even watching where I was going," George absently said as his eyes—and also mind—were focused on her face. "Why are you crying?"

She sniffled but didn't say anything. George frowned and held her face up with a finger. Maybe he shouldn't have done that, his face was stating to burn up.

"Really, it's nothing," Pattie said so quietly that George needed to strain his ears to hear her. "Just a little misunderstanding with Eric."

The taller of the two just hummed as a reply to that, looking into the girl's eyes for a while. She looked back and for a moment it was quiet bliss.

"And then he just kissed her, just like that! She was still dating Eric and everything! It's like he didn't even care about his friend!" the first girl—Alexis—ended. Paul was still looking at her but through thin eyes this time. He definitely wasn't liking this girl.

"Well, it sounds like they were on a break or something," Paul aid defensively. I honestly feel sorry for George and Paul's future kid(s). He can be really overprotective to the point where breathing down your neck would be seen as giving some space.

"I don't think so. Pretty sure we would have heard about that," the other—Sara (without an h because it's more original)—rebutted calmly.

Paul shook his head, muttering bitterly about teenage girls. I would remind him that he sometimes acts like them but he already picked up his phone to talk to Jane by then.

"George is pitching! Look at the little slugger, he looks like a natural out there!" John practically gushed. He leaned much farther out of his seat than the other parts of the game.

And I guess it was alright since the girls kept exaggerating and everything else so it was already the last inning. They made me miss everything! Not that I really mind that . . . hehe.

This is it ladies and gents, the bases are loaded and The Boston High Bangles are down by a good 4 runs. Whatever Harrison has underneath his sleeve, it'd better be something to rig that scoreboard."

This time John didn't laugh. He was looking straight on toward George, who was staring down the pitcher as he held the bat high. His thick eyebrows were scrunched up to the point that it looked like he had a very low unibrow.

The pitcher threw the ball, it curving nicely though not getting the nice crack connection to the bat. Instead it went into the catcher's mitt with a low thud. George looked down, swinging his bat only a little. The catcher threw the ball back to the pitcher.

"You can do it Georgie," Paul whispered. I looked over him. His head was actually lifted from his phone for the third time today. This was turning to be a miracle.

The pitcher threw the ball again and George hit it. This time it didn't have that sharp crack from the others before and lazily flew through the air and went over the foul line. Everyone hissed as the tension started to get even thicker. I think a machete wouldn't even get the job done now.

This was it. The last pitch and possibly the end of the game was almost put out. The pitcher had a particularly nasty grin on his face that made me just a bit worried on what he was going to do. George still had that thick eyebrow stare but it didn't look as sincere as before.

The ball left the pitcher's hand before I could even think. Everything seemed a bit too slow motion at that moment. George swung, his bat already blurring at the edge. This time the crack was perfect. It went soaring through the air, showing no sign of letting up. Even George was looking up at the ball, tipping his hat to get a good look at it. It was dangerously close to the foul line, looking like it wasn't too much but a few feet away from it and if a sudden gust came, that would be the end of it. Instead, it just went over the fence.

For a while, there was complete and awed silence until Mo shouted, "C'mon George! Run the bases!" That's when everyone exploded into a huge, wild cheer. George and the other three guys started to sprint, getting enough runs to tie up the scoreboard and enough cheers to boost their spirits. And only a few batters after, The Boston High Bangles won the match.

If the end of this match sounded a bit too Disney, let's have that slide. It's my birthday after all, I should get a few things.

Paul was the first one to get to George and he wrapped in such a tight hug that I'm sure George turning slightly blue wasn't because he was blushing.

George tried squirming out of his grasp but Paul seemed to be stronger than he looked. "Paul, please let go. I know you're proud and all but—"

"Of course I'm proud! You just saved your team and looked cool doing it! I feel like I'm on top of the world!"

Paul went off to hug George even tighter—if that was possible—and mumble happily about everything he did being right. John laughed at the whole situation but didn't do much about it. I didn't either, it was pretty funny.

"Okay, since Mother Hen Paul won't let go, you'll have to settle with a pat on the head. This was a nice game, Georgie! You really know how to make things interesting," John said while patting his head as he said he would. "Now let's start celebrating!"

George's head shot up, looking even more excited than before. "I forgot! Tony told me I could get his first hot dog and I didn't go."

Paul let go even though he looked like a lost puppy when he did. George leaded us through the giant swarm of people who congratulated, patted on the back, whistled, all that good stuff. When the crowd started thinning, John and I realized exactly where we were.

John pointed to the same dark haired teenager that gave us problems before. "Ringo, is this the same place where that kid—?"

"Yeah," I said simply. If George goes over there . . .

"And that's the same kid—?"

"Yup."

"And George probably knows him and—?"

"Exactamente."

"This is total—"

"You've got that right."

George walked up to the lanky teen and gave him a very long handshake that only could have been invented this year. After exchanging a few words with him, George turned around with a big smile on his face.

"Guys, meet Tony. He's in my Math class and likes math for some odd reason," George summed up nicely. Tony just shrugged and looked up. He smirked at John and I. "Paul, I think you remember him from the one time I need to be tutored."

Paul nodded vigorously, still pumped from the recent win. If he didn't calm down now, he might forever be like this and I didn't want to see hyper Paul again any time soon. As in, forever.

"Yeah, thank goodness you're good at Math. I probably would have strangled Georgie by now."

George jumped back a few inches. "What you did before isn't strangling me?"

Paul shrugged and finally shook Tony's hand. "That was nice and kind. If you failed Math . . . totally different story."

George shook his head, but he didn't say anything about that. "So can I have my hot dog now?"

"I don't think he will, he kept lying about not having anything to make a decent hot dog," John murmured, looking a bit too irritated about not having a cylinder shaped beef stick . . .

"Sorry about that. I promised Geo the first one and he didn't come."

"I'm sorry! It's not my fault that I forgot!"

"Yeah it is," Paul said with a laugh in his voice. "You kept banging your head against the window. It's a miracle that you remember how to swing a bat."

Tony laughed and pointed to George's hair. "Weren't you guys supposed to cut it?"

George caressed his hair slowly. "I did. Can't you see it? I mean—"

"No, the other guys cut their hair way shorter than that. Like, buzz cut short."

Mo spit out the water she was drinking, making me jump a little before I checked if she was okay.

"A buzz cut? Those are so boring and—ugh!" Mo finished of angrily. She then went on to talk about random haircuts that were better than buzz cuts. Mullets, mohawks—

"Hey, what's with you smiling at your phone, Paulie?" John asked Paul mischievously. Paul only blushed and ducked his head down. "Let me see it, let me see it!"

Paul tried to put the phone out of his reach but with John's freaky long arms, it was no use.

"Haha! I have your phone!" John shouted in a fake French accent. "Now let me see what is in here." He scrolled for only a few seconds on the smartphone before acquiring a Cheshire Cat like grin.

"Paulie's going on a date with his girlfriend," John said in a sing-song voice. If possible, Paul's blushing got worse.

"Jane's not my girlfriend! She's just a friend that I'm going out with," Paul finished quietly. The girls started to giggle. Great, Paul's charm is kicking in again . . .

"That's called a girlfriend, Paul," George corrected teasingly as he got his hot dog.

"And we're going to help you through every part of this Macca me boy! Say anything and we'll do it!" John said enthusiastically.

"Okay, don't help me."

"I was hoping you wouldn't say that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Told ya it was long. I tried to warn you and everything . . . Hmm, oh well, at least you probably liked it. Now here's the news . . . we are nearing the end of this wacky story. Yeah, I know, I'll miss it too when it goes. But the thing is, even when I do finish it I'll post some one-shots for it and all. So it won't really be gone. With that said, review and love! #peaceandlove


	17. It's Been A Hard Day's . . . Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ha! Time, I've got it!! I finished it like I said! I feel accomplished for absolutely nothing . . . Wow, my life has gone downhill. Anyways, this is probably my weirdest chapter. So if you thought I was listening to Strawberry Fields Forever and that's what inspired this, you're mostly right. Read on though! 8D

John leaned back, checking his leather watch which matched his Sherlock Holmes attire. "The time has come my dear Watson—"

"John, there is no way I will be demoted from apprentice to bumbling sidekick," Ringo said with a sideways look at John. John continued to look at the watch on his wrist, not even bothering to look at the possibly angry Ringo.

"Okay, fine," John sighed in defeat. "Looks like the jobs up to you, Bri."

"I'd rather not. Why am I here again?"

"I think you need to secretly but not so secretly watch over Paul and Jane," Keith supplied, lounging on the same couch John was on.

John rolled his eyes, taking out a pipe and putting it to his lips. A silence nearly fell in the room when a surge of bubbles flew through out of the opening of the pipe. He smirked with some sort of accomplishment on his face.

"So we have Eppy's part in the plan already said," John started off, turning to Brian as he continued. "All you need to do is just sit by him and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid . . . because he can do some pretty nerdy stuff."

Buddy snorted. "Says the guy that's overly obsessed with Doctor Who and Sherlock."

"It's okay to be obsessed with something. It makes my day. But as I was saying, the time has come to watch over our little Paulie to make sure Jane is as nice as he says she is. So it's pretty simple, Brian will be in disguise and watch over them in a table not too far from there's. Just make sure Jane doesn't do anything that might hurt Paul."

"And how would I get Paul out of the situation if it calls for it?" Brian asked, eyebrow slightly raised over the seriousness taken for a first date.

"Just tell him that he has a phone call waiting for him. We'll all be dressed as the waiters who'll be wearing suits tonight . . . I think."

Stuart nearly choked on the water he was drinking, eyebrows raised into his hairline. John raised an eyebrow in return, silently questioning the reaction. The exchange of eyebrow raising and glances continued on for a while until George coughed loudly.

"Care to let us know what you're talking about?"

"This guy here thinks he's brilliant when he forgot practically the most important part of the plan. Nice going, John," Stuart muttered, twirling a pencil in his hand all the while.

"At least I thought of something! If you can't think of something, don't judge," John retaliated stubbornly. He took off the Inverness Cape, revealing a jet black tux underneath but kept the cane in his hand, swinging it around in his hand.

"Everyone else seems ready except . . ."

Buddy glared at John instantly, picking at the sleeves of his sweater with disdain.

"What? The only suits I have make me look like a tree and I'm not dealing with that."

John stopped picking at the sleeves but still stared at them like the enemy. He looked at the watch one last time before finally standing up and getting to the door.

"They should be at that restaurant by now, we don't want to be late or Paul will make a fool of himself. Or worse, be boring."

George nodded his head, quietly agreeing with the fact that this was true. But there was also the fact that he was texting Pattie.

"Get off the phone George! Pattie can wait, can't she?" John whined quietly, his head banging on the door so lightly that it couldn't be heard.

"I can't keep her waiting! She wants to know what's going to happen! I don't want to let her down," George answered back in a monotone voice. Pattie's cold randomly went away but her parents wanted her to stay home in case. It was clearly driving George up a wall.

John sighed, grabbed the phone from the unsuspecting teens hands and put it in his pocket. George was already protesting loudly but John hushed him quickly by saying, "If you give her the right present she'll forgive you."

Finally, John got them all to leave the apartment and get into Ringo's car, with Ringo obviously driving.

"I feel like a chauffeur. . . did we really have to wear these suits?" he's asked as he pulled on the collar. 

"Yes! It's like you weren't even listening," John huffed. "Brian came up with the idea anyways, so we might as well go with it."

Ringo didn't respond to that and merely turned when the light allowed him, pulling at the collar once again.

The rest of the ride was filled with a dull silence and random scribbles on paper from Stuart. John once again didn't do one of his projects so it was now Stu's job. Good thing John wasn't hoping for an A on it.

"So will you all stay in the car or come with me?" Brian asked when they finally got to the restaurant. Buddy quickly shook his head and opened his side.

"Paul's a pretty stubborn person when he needs to be. I'm sure this might be one of those times if it leads to it."

No one challenged that notion after seeing Paul rant about the two teenagers after the baseball game. After that, the time George had to hanging out with his friends dropped dramatically until he could prove the teens weren't all like the two they met.

They went through the entrance and instantly went their own ways, Eppy going off to wait on Paul's table while the others went off to spy discretely. Or as discretely as one could with John in your group.

"He looks red . . . Wait, nevermind he's laughing," John whispered.

"Can you stop criticising him? It's not like you did any better when--" Stuart started but was cut off when John started to understand what he was getting at.

"Okay, okay! I get it, I'll shut up!" John said through clenched teeth. He started to scowl but still stood quietly like he said he would, even if he did squirm at every little thing that happened.

"You five!" a voice behind them barked. They all quickly spun around to see the very tall, very burly manager of the restaurant. "Aren't you supposed to be up there singing or something like that?"

"What do you mean, sir?" Buddy managed to get out. The man didn't look any happier and crossed his arms, making him look even more threatening if possible.

"I mean, I called for live entertainment and they told me they would be here, dressed up in suits! Well, here they are so I'm not wasting money for the time you're not playing. Now the instruments are up there and the PA's working fine if you ask me. I'll be expecting some guitar chords in 10 minutes at the most."

With that he left, leaving the boys to quake in their fancy boots. They all looked at one another to bring up an idea but there were drawing up blanks. And that manger didn't seem like one who enjoyed improvising.

"I guess we should go up there, huh?" Stuart murmured with a small smirk. It didn't fully travel to the others but they gave convincing smiles back. The closer they moved to the stage though, the more their smiles faded and worry set in.

"I'm not that good at the guitar though," George fretted as he slung the guitar on himself.

"Didn't you okay in the talent show for your old high school?" Ringo asked as he tested the high hats.

George's face went blank and he said with no emotion, "I'm here now, aren't I?"

With that said, they stopped talking and set up quickly and quietly, mostly in fear of the manager. None of them dared to say that though.

"Okay," Buddy said as he got as he got to the mic and put on the guitar. "What do you want to sing?"

Paul was having a pretty good time with Jane, thank you very much. The two were laughing and definitely enjoying each other's company.

Apparently Jane was casted for one of the lead roles in a new show and she wouldn't stop being excited about it. It was being filmed in New York so it wouldn't be too bad for their relationship (if Paul could call it that), gave her three days off along with a pretty good paycheck. Who would turn that down.

"Smile for the camera, kids!" a stranger yelled to them. Paul turned just in time to get a bright bulb to flash right in his eyes.

He was sure he looked a bit stupid in it.

"Remind me how many times they're going to do that," Paul said under his breath as he rubbed his eyes. "And why they're done it."

"It's because I'm an up and coming celebrity. The people who get the most pics the quickest and have the most will get the most money," Jane explained calmly with a shrug. "But I don't know how many times they're going to do it."

"I still don't understand how you're okay with it. If I were you, they would have gotten the hint to stop taking pictures a long time ago."

Jane laughed, leaving Paul to smile with accomplishment that he was the one to make her smile one again.

A twang of the guitar came from the stage which caught Paul's ear immediately but he let it go. Anything that sounded like it was made before the 80's got his attention so it wasn't out of the normal.

"Isn't this the song from the Nationwide Insurance commercials?"

Paul nodded, smiling at the fact that the song and insurance company really don't go together.

They continued to chatter, waiting for their meals to arrive when Jane finally groaned and put her head in her hands.

"What's wrong, Jane?" Paul asked as he tried to pry her hands away from her face. It didn't work, with her hands only getting tighter as he tried.

"You'll think I'm insane," she moaned to the table, rubbing her face furiously.

"I will if you don't tell me."

She groaned again and looked up. Her eyes were back onto to stage and they were probably not to close from the end now.

"Those are your friends up there, aren't they?"

Paul turned around to see and yes, there were his friends standing on the stage, singing "Love Is Strange." He was pretty sure it was their life mission to embarrass him.

"Sylvia . . ." Buddy sang into the mic, still playing his lead guitar with ease.

"Yes Mickey?" John sang back in a high pitched voice.

"How do you call your loverboy?"

John practically snickered into the mic, his face turning a bright red as he sang, "Come 'ere loverboy!!"

"And if he doesn't answer?"

Even George, who was also playing lead guitar, couldn't contain his laughter when John sang, "Ohh loverboy!"

"And if he still doesn't come?" Buddy coaxed with a smirk.

"Then forget about him," John deadpanned. Stuart stopped playing the bass for a moment and full out laughed while Ringo tripped over a beat from the hysteria. "Just kidding, I'll simply say baby, ohh baby, my sweet baby, you're the one."

They sang the end together, harmonizing the whole way. The room exploded with clapping, laughter and talking. Either they entirely forgot about the song or they really liked it.

Paul walked up to the stage with a baffled look on his face. He honestly didn't know what to say to these guys.

"Don't know how to respond to our awesomeness?" John teased as he continued to fiddle with the guitar.

"I certainly know how to respond to this," a very unfamiliar voice boomed behind them. They all quickly spun around to find a rather tall man with slicked back and a suit and tie to match. "You guys did great! When the manager said he knew you guys were great, I was a bit skeptical but now I know what he was talking about! Sorry, where are my manners? I'm George Martin, a record producer at Apple."

Ringo choked and it took him a while before he could manage to get out, "The Apple? As in, Steve Jobs' Apple?"

Mr. Martin nodded and looked at the others. "Any more questions or things to say?"

George pointed at his tie and frowned. "I don't like your tie. Not sure I want to work with a guy that has plaid ties."

Mr. Martin went silent for a moment, staring quietly at George through small eyes, suddenly making George regret what he had to say. But the man laughed before anyone could star saying sorry.

"Good one!" he said with a smirk. "I like the humor on you guys. Here's my card so you guys can call when you get the chance."

With that, he gave Paul his card and turned around with an air of sophistication and accomplishment. Paul looked at the card in his hand, turning it over again and again in his hand.

"This amazing," he gasped with wide eyes. No one could disagree. "But I feel like I know this name from somewhere. Maybe M—"

Brian ran over to them with a worried look on his face as he kept turning to look behind them, Jane following right behind.

"What happened Brian? Paul didn't mess up . . . I think," John added, getting a quick glare from Paul.

"I'm sure you want to want to get away from those guys," Brian answered with a jerk of the head toward a group of bulk men that's instruments looked more like pretty weapons than anything else.

"Yeah, you guys can deal with this . . . oh, look my wife's calling," Buddy finished awkwardly (as his phone didn't even buzz) and sped off in the opposite direction of the men.

"I'd call him a weakling but those guys don't look like they're here to talk things out," Stuart murmured, his pale face getting even paler. "See you when you aren't trying to be killed. Good luck, Jane!"

He also ran off in the direction Buddy took, quickly catching up to the latter.

The four left looked at the menacing group that were now glaring at them. If only looks could kill, the poor boys would be nothing but moptopped dust.

"Think running would be a good enough for the last thing we do on Earth?" John asked with one last warily glance at the men. The other three quickly nodded, ready to leave with all their body parts.

"I'll see you later, Jane. Good luck with your show!" Paul shouted as they ran toward the back exit. Not too long after, the burly men caught on and started to chance after them.

"What am I going to do with him?" Jane asked herself with a smile tugging at the side of her lips. Brian overheard her and gave her a small hug.

"Just continue to tell yourself you love him even with all the craziness and I think you two will be just fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Only one left. *faints and wakes up weeks later* But don't worry, I'll write one-shots on this anyways but yeah, I'm just going to miss this. In the meantime, continue being amazing as usual.


	18. And In The End (AKA Happy Birthday Johnny!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm not okay with this ending. It makes me feel like it's not ended and at the same time it's really good and bad. Makes me happy I'm doing two other spin-offs on this idea. Get on with it, I'll be back with tissues.

"Guys, we've done it!" We're number one!" John shouted through the studio. George promptly dropped his phone and just about fainted, but not without murmuring something about being famous. Ringo stabbed his drumstick into the set, him for some reason forgetting how to put them down.

"Are you lying to us again, John?" Brian, our new manager, asked with a sideways glance.

I quickly looked back to John who's face was still flushed with excitement. He nodded like a baseball bobblehead, dancing around on his toes.

Martin slowly put down the master record to our first album, looked at all of us, and wildly cheered. To say that we didn't join in would be an utter lie.

"After all the hard work, here's the reward for it!" he exclaimed as he went off to look for the champagne. "I don't know how you guys did it, but continue doing it!"

That instantly set me and the other three into a giant fit of laughter. If only he knew all the stuff we went through, then just maybe the record producer wouldn't have said that.

 

"Paul, why are you taunting them?" George shouted over his shoulder. Paul just finished clicking his heels, a smile full in his eyes and present on his face.

"They're so far behind though!" Paul shouted back, just as they were suddenly out of sight. "See, they're gone! We have nothing to worry about."

Paul stopped running, totally confident and totally happy that the first date went as well as it did. At least for Paul's standards. He kept walking, straight into Ringo's back. He blinked once, staring at Ringo's totally mortified face, wondering what could make the older person look that scared. If only he looked up to see that the big group of men were somehow right in front of them.

"Hey, can't we just work this out guys?" John asked in a squeaky voice, almost like what he used on the stage.

"Yeah, if you mean working it out by using our fists," one of the tallest of the group said. George visibly shrunk and hid behind Paul, only peaking out over the shoulder.

"How about not," Ringo suggested. A man with a dragon tattoo sneered in his direction, his already sharp drumsticks looking a bit sharper.

"Well, you guys stole our one chance to get famous so something has to happen."

Paul slowly pushed down the drumstick that he was aiming at his chest. "Can't there be another way to solve this that doesn't involve us getting severely injured?"

They all, for once, stopped looking as menacing as they did before. With exchanged glances, the group slowly got more . . . human.

"Yeah, there is one thing," the leader of the group muttered. His face slowly gave way to a smile. That didn't help the situation at all. "Put one of our songs in your album."

"How do you we know it's good enough?" George asked, suddenly getting some bravery and looked over Paul's shoulder. It was instantly lost when the man with sharp drumsticks glared at him.

"We have a CD right here," the leader spoke up, pulling it out of his jacket's pocket. John tentatively took it and stared at it for a very long time.

"And you just happened to have this in your pocket?" John asked incredulously. He flipped it over to see the back and still wasn't impressed."What is this called anyway?"

"Helter Skelter."

"That sounds like torture to a guitar!" George screamed and moved to turn it off. No one stopped him. 

"I'd probably get blisters on my fingers if I did that," Ringo whispered in slight awe of the drummer who did this and wondering how stupid the person was to go through with this.

"The singing sounds so . . .," Paul started but couldn't even finish saying anything, just staring at the laptop that held the CD with horror.

John was the only one that didn't say anything, just closing his mouth and opening it with a puzzled look on his.

"Well?" Ringo asked, wondering what John had to say. John continued to sit there and only after a minute did he realize Ringo had spoken.

"It was . . . umm, different?" John said, not even fully convinced with himself. "But it reminded me that we need some music if we want to get signed by that record company."

George snapped out of his pouty mood and looked up. "But where are we going to get it? It's not like they fall out of the sky."

"Well, poems are basically music without the instrument part and John's written a lot of those for one of his classes," Ringo brought up.

"Okay, prove me wrong then."

"I didn't mean to—are you upset that you still haven't talked to Patty?"

"Yeah! John hasn't given me my phone yet!"

The phone was instantly thrown at his face.

"But I hate that teacher," John whined. "He's so stupid and keeps doing all this self-promoting stuff so only the people that buy all his trash get A's! And then he keeps acting like I'm great and everything only to give me a C+ at most!" He flopped onto the couch next to Paul, sprawling out all over him.

"Okay?" Paul asked slowly. John laughed, still not moving.

"Okay. I guess we have to go to my college now."

"No!" Paul instantly yelled, making everyone jumped. He still remembered the rooms the school held. "I mean, how about we just not?"

John stared at Paul for a moment before picking up the keys, instantly having them taken away by Ringo but still walking out of the apartment.

"C'mon, to the TARDIS we go!" John shouted but it wasn't as enthusiastic as usual.

And their first task as a band started: Somehow sucking up to Murray Kaufman aka Murray the K.

 

Paul didn't bother to open a single door, not even the front doors, when they got there. No one said anything about it but it was still a bit off for the normally outgoing guy.

"Paul, what's up?" John asked as he opened the third door today. It was filled with stools, hats and cameras. He'd never seen that before.

"Nothing! Why do you think anything's wrong with me?" Paul asked, hoping John wouldn't open another door that led to the nightmares the last trip held.

"You're kind of flinching each time John opens to the door," George pointed out.

"And you sort of sigh with relief when you look in," Ringo added.

"You look pale too."

"A bit shaky."

"Eyes a bit bulgy."

"Your hands are twitching—"

"Okay, I get it, I look insane!" Paul ended with a huff. "Anything else?"

"Yeah," John said from all the way down the hall. "I found the room while you guys were bickering."

"I thought you dropped that class this year?" Ringo asked, slowly walking over to John and the room.

"Aunt Mimi wouldn't allow it so I have to deal with this—Hey Mr. Kaufman, how's it going?" John said with a smile, luckily not saying what he obviously wanted to.

"Not bad, Johnny Boy!" Murray shouted, appreciatively clapping John on the back. "So what do you need from me today?"

"I need to get that poem that I wrote from you last week, because I need it for something really important."

"But I haven't even gotten to grading them yet—"

"I know that, but we need it for a record deal—"

"A record deal, you say?" Murray asked, suddenly intrigued. "Why didn't you say that before my boy? I'll get it right this moment!"

John huffed as Murray walked away into his classroom, John visibly frustrated.

"And this is why I don't like this stupid—Did you get it Mr. Kaufman?"

"Yes I most certainly did! But you know I can't just give up good material like this without notifying people."

"Don't worry, you can write about it in your books and stuff. We give you permission," John said with a smile that was perhaps a bit too sweet. They shook hands and the second Murray walked away, John wiped his hand on his pants.

"Never again," John muttered. "Not if I can help it. Now to the song making part!"

They piled back into the car, looking excited and wily, pent up musical energy inside.

"What's the song even like? Is it single material?" Paul asked over John shoulder.

"Single material? This song could be the album itself!" John shouted as he looked it over.

"What's it called again? You said something about holding hands and stuff . . ." Ringo quietly said, trying to remember in vain.

"I Want To Hold Your Hand is it's name and stopping girl's hearts is it's game!"

 

"We couldn't come up with a single note for hours!" Ringo laughed, bringing up when John and Paul kept yelling at each other over what sounded horrible or not.

"Easy for you to say," Paul shot back with a smirk. "All you have to do is come up with the beat!"

"That's not easy either. You can't make up your minds even if your life was on the line."

"Not true! Well, maybe but at least it's a number one! The hard work was worth it!"

George, who was stuck with drinking apple juice, snickered to himself until he was blue in the face, all on his own with the joke.

"What's so funny, Georgie?" John asked, laughing along with George.

"If you didn't meet Paul this never would have happened. So we kinda have Starbucks to thank."

"No, we have John's terrible eyesight and hatred of glasses to thank," Paul said with a tip of his head to John's glasses which lay discarded on the table.

"Actually we have Paul's ability to look like a girl to thank."

"So you trying to hit on me?" Paul asked in a squeaky voice, very much not comfortable with this. John said nothing on this and looked off somewhere else.

"Let's have a cheer to Christmas luck and all that good stuff!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: See, it just doesn't bode well with me! I'll probably have something of the one-shots updated later this month, Thanksgiving at the latest. I'll miss this story to death, I just will. Thanks to everyone. I'll have a dedication chapter up tomorrow. Tchao my wonderful darlings! ;D


	19. P.S I Love You

As promised, I shall talk about the epic people that have made this story as sad, happy, weird, hyper and just flat out fun as it was. I thank you all for having patience with me over the time this story started to yesterday, when it ended. I just can't give you enough internet hugs about this. So before I start crying, let's get to it. Also, this is in no order at all . . . don't feel like I hate you. I'm grateful for you all.

Fanfiction. Net (Blast from the past, right?):

The Beatles Babydoll22- Thanks for thinking my story was cute and all! That was totally a time I was insecure with the story so I'm glad you boosted my confidence with the review. Hopefully you transferred over and read the ending. 8)

mybutt- First, your name is flat out hilarious to me. Dunno why. Second, I agree! I love the start and to Potter it up like that slowly broke me. Glad you liked what you saw and hope you read the end.

Heavenly-Evealen- I STILL find your name highly ironic in that you call yourself 'Heavenly' and yet you continued to run after me and my story with a readily sharpened pitchfork. But I no longer hold it with bitterness in my heart, I'm not letting you get on me like that. So I thank you for bringing me to Wattpad and know about this great site. There, I've now been released from all that.

AO3 (Archive of Our Own):

MaccaandGeorgie- *hugs you* Your reviews are illegal in parts of America because they make me flippin' high. I think you're amazing as a writer but just extraordinary as a person. You always have some sort of happy energy in your reviews so they always make me feel like I've done something right. Thanks for being round.

rockon1973- You have such a deep thinking into my stories you actually make me somehow look like I'm good at this. I always await your insightful reviews and your blunt humor. There were honestly times you thought of things I hadn't! Happy to have you like everything that I wrote, deep or not.

Wattpad:

Macca40- It's true that I'm your weird friend (that's already established xD) but I never knew I was your funny friend. I just feel like you're kidding me when you say that . . . I just do. But your reviews are always a treat, they make me laugh and want to give you an internet hug over and over. I still can't believe a great writer like you likes my crazy chapters. 

anakinbridger541- Your comments are short, sweet and straight to the point. And they always find a way to make me laugh! They are just flat out perfect. Thanks for commenting!

Liveuptoyourdreams21- Your name is totally inspirational, totally loving it. Glad you found it funny and hopefully you finished it.

lennonlicious- Again, epic username. I'm glad you loved it and hope you read it to the end.

corcovado- I looked up your username and I need to ask, ARE YOU BRAZILIAN?! If so, lucky . . . Because that's a spot in Brazil but it also means hunchback so I'm not too sure. . . Anyways, I'm glad you liked it and again, read it front to finish.

Zombiefighter01- I kinda feel bad because basically the second you get to the site I end the story. Wish ya the best here on this site, I'm sure you'll love it.

NJ2001- You may have just started but I don't really care about that. Just glad you started to read this story and I hope you really like it. Already liking your comments too, they're funny and I can't wait to see more if you write any.

PurlyandGirly- I'm not sure if you'll get me or like the ending. I can't even say. So I'll just thank you for putting up with my horribly sporadic messaging times and my also sporadic updating times. I know, sporadic person. But really, thank you for the comments and your all out niceness towards me. You're honestly great. 

ssmith12344321- You came in at the end and just made me laugh the whole time. Your comments are just hilarious and they made me wish I had more ideas so I could see more.

My Double Or Triple Peeps:

DoctorLennon007- Ah, old friend! Your comments are always welcome, always. You've been awesome to me even though there's no rule to help out newbies and all, so I thank you for putting up with me. I also thank you for putting up with my at times bad grammar. I'm just all out grateful for your amazing kindness and everything, along with other points I can't even translate into words. To put it frankly, thanks is not a word good enough this time.

ThisBirdHasFlown- I remember when you used to be that one Mysterious Guest. It was so cool to have that one person just come in incognito and leave something nice. So to really know you is epic. I'm going to honestly hound you on Crash because we need to know what happens to Georgie! It's been über fun chatting with you and reading everything, don't want that ending. ;)

leah9712- It's fun talking to you and learning about your culture! I'm so in love right now with it all that my mom's wonder why I know El Perdón (don't know if you know it). XD I love your comments because they are always filled with your humor. I'm so glad you've followed me and I you around so that I could continue to see you. 8)

omgringo- Dude, your story hurts. Like, it literally just hurts. So to have your comments be just the highlight of my day is just epic

 

I never realized that I had so many of you. Wow . . . Also, thanks to the people that have favourited the story, put it on their lists and all that good stuff. You gave my story some exposure and all and made it as good as it was. Thanks! Now to all the future readers, you guys would so be up here too! If I could see into the future that is . . . There's more to this series (or whatever I'll call this later) so just once again be patient and I'll send it along with love from me to you! *starts playing the harmonica as I walk into the sunset*


End file.
